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ASHES   OF   ACHIEVEMENT 


THE  ASHES  OF 
ACHIEVEMENT 

Bij    FRANK     A.     RUSSELL 


BRENTANO'S  :  :  :  New  York 
Publishers   :::::::  MCMXXII 


Copyright,  1922,  bt 
BRENTANO'S 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 

BY  THE  MAN  WHO  WROTE  IT 

TO  THE  MAN  WHO  WROUGHT  IT 


799306 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 


BOOK  I— SPARKS 


CHAPTER  I 

"The  Lamp  of  our  Youth  will  be  utterly  out;  hut  we  shall  tubtitt 

on  the  smell  of  it, 
And    whatever  we  do,  we  shall  fold  our  hands  and  suck  our  gums 

and  think  well  of  it. 
Yes,  we  shall  be  perfectly  pleased  with  our  work,  and  that  it  the 

perfectest  Hell  of  it!" 

— The  Old  Men 

THE  road  from  Deniliquin,  glimmers,  gray  and 
uninviting,  across  a  changeless  expanse  of  browned 
grass,  like  a  soiled  ribbon  on  a  drab's  hair.  It 
narrows  to  a  point  miles  ahead,  with  something  like  a 
promise  of  fulfilment,  only  to  widen  maliciously  as  j'ou 
approach,  to  march  endlessly  on  as  before,  dull  and  level, 
an  exasperating  highway. 

Like  a  crawling  insect  the  doctor's  buggy  crept  across 
the  plain.  Dr.  Payne  would  have  indignantly  questioned 
the  word  "crept,"  for  he  would  never  use  a  horse  that 
could  not  do  its  level  ten  miles,  and  indeed  the  term  iq 
but  a  comparative  one,  for  any  progress  seemed  almost 
imperceptible  in  that  country  of  vast  distances. 

The  ** clop-clop"  of  the  horse  was  pleasantly  muted  in 
the  dust,  spirals  of  which  slowly  mounted  into  the  still, 
hot  air,  and  marked  for  miles  the  passage  of  the  open 
buggy. 

Odo  Kent,  two  days  off  the  English  boat,  looked  about 
him  curiously.  Inwardly  he  was  wondering  how  his  old 
school  chum  could  stand  this  grim  monotony. 

1 


2  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Can't  call  it  pretty,"  he  pronounced. 

The  doctor  grinned  amiably  at  his  guest. 

"The  Eiveriua,  my  friend,"  he  retorted,  "happens  to 
be  the  finest  sheep  country  in  the  world.  Why  demand 
prettiness  as  well?  Don't  be  a  glutton.  You  can  get 
prettiness  on  a  chocolate-box." 

Kent  smiled  pleasantly. 

"Oh,  lash  me  with  contempt,  you  breeder  of  sheep. 
But  harken !  When  I  look  for  the  smile  of  God  and 
find  myself  confronted  by  a  staring  sheep's  head,  I  can't 
swallow  my  disappointment  in  the  shape  of  mutton  or 
wool,  even  if  you  tell  me  each  is  the  finest  in  the  world. 
I  travel  thousands  of  miles  to  find  fresh  beauty,  and  you 
drive  me  over  a  dust-heap ;  I  utter  a  mild  complaint,  and 
you  smother  me  with  statistics.     Go  to  I" 

Payne  laughed  aloud. 

"I'll  promise  you  beauty  and  to  spare.  Oh,  I'll  make 
ample  amends,  my  word-spinning  friend.  Good  Lordl 
To  think  of  little  Bill  Kent,  that  freckled  little  devil  who 
made  my  cocoa  at  Harrow,  blossoming  out  into  a  word- 
factory — a  novelist,  and  famous,  too,  by  George !  When 
I  read  of  the  great  Odo  Kent,  it  never  occurred  to  me  to 
connect  him  with  you.  Your  wire  from  Melbourne  was 
my  first  hint.  And  why — in  the  name  of  sanity — why 
Odo  ?     It  sounds  more  like  a  scent  than  a  name. ' ' 

"Nevertheless  it  happens  to  be  one  of  mine — I  natur- 
ally concealed  the  horrid  fact  at  school,"  Kent  replied, 
with  just  a  hint  of  injury  in  his  tones.  A  popular  novel- 
ist seldom  has  a  sense  of  humor ;  it  so  rarely  survives  the 
blighting  breath  of  popularity. 

"Well,  you've  certainly  made  it  damned  acceptable  on 
the  cover  of  a  book,"  Pajme  made  instant  amends,  sens- 
ing his  blunder.  * '  You  and  this  new  fellow  Kipling  seem 
to  divide  honors.  What  do  you  think  of  him,  by  the 
way?" 

* '  Nothing  lasting.  A  trifling  chap  who  happens  to  have 
set  a  fashion,"  was  Kent's  judgment.  "In  five  years 
nobody  will  read  him — ^he  's  too  raw,  too  crude. ' ' 

"H'm!  I'm  an  ignorant  blighter  myself.  Like  him 
immensely.     Well,  we  '11  give  you  copy  for  the  new  book. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  3 

Just  give  us  a  hint  of  the  game  you're  after,  and  we'll 
arrange  a  drive  of  the  characters  that  come  nearest  the 
mark.  I'll  say  this — they  come  in  all  shapes  and  sizes 
in  Australia.  Why,  the  very  man  I  'm  going  to  see  now 
is  a  regular  freak — ought  to  be  in  a  book. '  * 

The  novelist  became  alert. 

"Who  is  he?" 
''Chap  named  Lee — John  Pascoe  Lee,  to  be  precise,'* 
replied  Payne. 

''What's  wrong  with  him?"  Kent  wished  to  know, 
having  in  mind  his  host's  profession. 

"He's  been  badly  mauled  by  the  cogs  of  a  machine 
he  was  pitched  into,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile  in  the 
corners  of  his  twitching  eyes. 

"Good  Lord!     Is  he  badly  hurt?     How  horrible!" 

The  smile  grew  to  the  characteristic  grin,  never  long 
absent  from  the  doctor's  face. 

"Pretty  badly  hurt,  I  should  say.  But  you'd  be  a 
better  judge  than  I." 

"I?"  echoed  the  mystified  novelist. 

"Yes,  the  injury  is  psychological — or  rather  moral," 
Pajme  explained,  gravely. 

"But  you  said  a  machine ,"  began  Kent.    Payne 

interrupted  with  a  big,  jolly  laugh. 

"Metaphorically,  my  dear  Bill,  metaphorically  speak- 
ing. He  got  chewed  up  nine  or  ten  years  ago  in  the 
unwieldy  English  machine,  known  as  primogeniture.  I 
was  trying  to  be  funny, ' '  he  confessed,  * '  a  rotten  habit  of 
mine,  part  of  a  bedside  manner,  so  to  speak.  Seriously 
though,  this  fellow  Lee  will  interest  you.  He's  a  perfect 
example  of  a  man  living  in  a  country  and  yet  existing 
outside  of  it." 

"I  don't  understand,"  confessed  Kent. 

"And  I'm  not  sure  I  can  explain,"  said  Payne. 
*'Why,  you're  an  Essex  man.  You  must  have  known 
of  the  Lees — they  own  that  great,  ugly  bam  just  out- 
side Middleham.     Rather  big  pots " 

"Of  course — Sir  Everard  Lee;  he  died  some  years 
ago.     His  youngster  inherited." 

"That's  the  man.     That  youngster  kicked  this  John 


4  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Lee  from  Middleham  to  Kiverina — magnificent  boot. 
Well,  that's  the  story." 

**Very  bald  sort  of  story.  Where  does  this  machine 
come  in?  And  what  have  I  to  do  with  it,  in  any 
case?" 

"Oh,  you  want  embroidery,  do  you?  Well,  we've  got 
ten  miles  more  to  do,  so  I'll  spin  the  yarn,"  Payne 
said. 

"How  do  you  come  to  be  posted?"  asked  Kent. 

"My  sister  was  nursing  Sir  Everard  for  five  years. 
Her  version  has  been  amplified  by  Lee  himself,  who 
never  tires  of  telling  his  wrong.  So  I  have  it  pretty 
pat." 

And  as  the  horse  held  its  even  pace  over  the  dusty 
road.  Dr.  Payne  told  John  Lee's  story. 

Any  explanation  of  Philip  Lee  that  left  his  parents 
out  of  account  would  be  as  complete  as  a  jigsaw  puzzle 
with  the  key-piece  missing. 

John  Lee  and  his  wife  were  violently  uprooted  from 
their  natural  soil,  and  transplanted  to  what,  for  them, 
was  the  uncongenial  ground  of  Australia.  They  failed 
to  acclimatize  themselves,  because  they  surrounded 
themselves  with  the  atmosphere  of  that  English  home 
from  which  they  had  been  driven.  Prejudice  and  indul- 
gence worked  subtly  on  their  natures,  and  possibly 
reacted  on  Philip's. 

As  Dr.  PajTie  had  indicated,  the  Lees  were  the  vic- 
tims of  a  system.  Eton  and  Oxford  were  integral  parts 
of  it.  As  a  young  man  John  went  up  to  Oxford, 
not  from  any  slightest  desire  to  make  a  career,  but 
merely  to  do  one  of  the  things  his  position  in  life 
ordained,  as  nephew  and  heir  of  a  baronet,  who  had 
weathered  sixty  years  of  life  as  a  bachelor,  and  who 
daily  congratulated  himself  on  a  feat,  which,  prop- 
erly regarded,  was  at  least  as  great  a  compliment 
to  the  innate  good  sense  of  women  as  to  his  own  wari- 
ness. 

After  a  somewhat  turgid  agricultural  experience  with 
wild  oats,  John,  to  the  surprise  and  mild  scandal  of  his 
compeers,  developed  an  enthusiasm  for  work,  and  passed 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  5 

out  of  Oxford  with  a  fairly  good  degree  and  an  almost 
indecent  desire  to  amount  to  something. 

He  ran  early  against  his  first  stone  wall.  He 
found  a  career  made  for  him — that  of  being  heir  to 
a  very  exigent  old  gentleman  with  a  partiality  for  shift- 
ing his  troubles  on  to  the  nearest  shoulders.  He  needed 
John,  and  scouted  any  idea  of  a  career  as  unworthy. 
John  rebelled,  but  forty  thousand  a  year  in  reversion 
has  a  certain  persuasive  power,  and  there  are  not  want- 
ing arguments  for  regarding  the  management  of  such 
a  sum  as  a  career  in  itself.  John  succumbed,  and 
hitched  himself  on  to  a  procession,  consisting  of  two 
nurses,  a  doctor,  a  man  used  to  lifting  stout  old  gentle- 
men from  couches  to  carriages,  a  courier  versed  in  lan- 
guage, gesticulation,  peculation  and  the  coinages  of 
Europe.  With  this  entourage  he  traversed  Europe  from 
Spa  to  Spa,  never  losing  hope  that  incessant  travel 
must  eventually  weaken  a  frame  on  which  gout,  ill- 
temper,  and  the  usual  etceteras  had  already  made 
inroads. 

With  alternating  systole  and  diastole  of  hope  and 
despair,  according  to  the  exasperating  fluctuations  in 
his  uncle's  health,  John  followed  the  scent  of  iodoform 
across  Europe.  During  a  happy  fortnight  in  Baden, 
when  Sir  Everard's  life  was  hanging  by  a  thread,  the 
heir  fell  in  love.  Things  were  coming  his  way.  Life 
was  beckoning  with  rosy  fingers.  To  those  who  are 
surprised  that  Love  could  flourish  in  an  atmosphere  of 
iodine  and  ether,  not  to  speak  of  red  flannel,  it  may  be 
curtly  replied  that  Love  is  mad  enough  for  anything. 

Sir  Everard,  calculating  that  he  could  dismiss  a  nurse 
if  John  married,  gave  his  consent.  Cicely  Mainwaring, 
pretty,  inconsequent,  charming,  was  quite  willing  to 
believe  herself  in  love  with  a  prospective  baronet  with 
a  rent-roll  that  was  a  scandal  to  Socialists.  John,  thirty- 
three,  and  extraordinarily  unsophisticated  since  he  had 
gone  a-harvesting  that  sad  crop  of  oats  in  his  first  year 
at  Oxford,  felt  an  urge  of  the  senses  that  wap  easily 
mistaken  for  a  grande  passion.  He^  had  no  friends  to 
whisper  a  warning  that  the  lovely  Cicely  was  not  equal 


6  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

to  a  long  road  and  a  hard  year.  If  there  had  been,  he 
would  have  had  his  answer  pat;  he  was  not  going  to 
travel  such  a  road. 

Seven  years  passed.  John  wag  forty  when  the  blow 
fell.  Sir  Everard  did  the  incredible  thing — the  im- 
possible thing — the  inevitable  thing,  as  John  sourly  told 
his  wufe  afterwards.  He  married,  or,  rather,  he  con- 
verted the  rather  captious  transient  nurse  into  a  perma- 
nent. Of  course,  she  was  a  designing  minx ;  that  goes 
without  saying.  In  icy,  well-bred,  carefully-thought- 
out  phrases.  Cicely  told  her  exactly  what  she  thought  of 
her.     Lady  Lee  smiled.     She  could  afford  to. 

Still  there  was  no  reason  for  despair.  A  jointure 
subtracted  from  forty  thousand  still  leaves  pickings. 
Common-sense  comforted  them.  They  were  still  heir- 
apparents.  It  was  certain  old  Sir  Everard  could  never 
have  children. 

Common-sense  betrayed  them.  Physiological  impos- 
sibilities must  give  way  to  august  English  law,  which 
decrees,  in  the  face  of  the  strongest  evidence  that  a 
child  born  in  wedlock  is  of  a  husband's  begettipg.  Use- 
less to  demonstrate  the  contrary — futile  to  bandy  words 
with  the  smiling  mother,  secure  in  the  very  face  of 
assaulting  scandal.  Sir  Everard,  proud  bej'-ond  measure, 
held  in  his  arms  a  year  after  his  wedding  a  boy,  strong 
and  vigorous,  whose  lusty  legs  had  successfully  kicked 
the  Lees  out-of-doors. 

Sir  Everard  gave  scant  ear  to  the  late  heirs.  He 
was  prepared  to  continue  the  allowance  during  his  life- 
time, grimly  observing  that  he  was  willing  to  pay  so 
much  for  his  nephew's  prayers  for  his  continued  health. 
To  John's  anguished  inquiry  as  to  what  was  to  become 
of  them,  he  blandly  countered  with  a  query  as  to  where 
the  devil  his  ambition  had  fiovm.  to.  He  then  exhorted 
him  to  be  a  man. 

A  family  council  was  held.  After  forty  years  of  land- 
holding  expectations,  John's  leanings  were  evident. 
Sir  Everard,  influenced  no  doubt  by  the  distance  and 
the  difficulty  of  communications,  offered  to  hwr  a  station 
in  Australia,  if  John  would  go  out.     So  it  was  decided. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  7 

The  estate  was  bought,  far  down  in  the  wonderful 
southlands  of  New  South  Wales.  Not  beautiful,  as  Kent 
had  remarked,  save  perhaps  to  an  eye  that  sees  deeper 
than  mere  surface  colors  and  contours,  the  Rivcrina  is 
nevertheless  a  delectable  land  of  wide  rich  plains,  and 
rolling  downs,  carrying  countless  flocks;  possessing 
wealthy,  well-built  towns,  where  Wool  is  staple  and  Sheep 
is  King.  Here  are  to  be  found,  in  stately  homes,  some 
of  the  richest  squatters  in  Australia,  with  feet  firmly 
planted  in  fatness,  equally  distant  from  the  two  largest 
Australian  cities. 

One  would  have  thought  that  the  Lees  would  have 
laeen  happy  in  this  Land  of  Promise.  Mrs.  Lee,  a  woman 
of  violent  enthusiasms  and  as  violent  reactions,  began 
by  declaring  that  at  last  she  lived!  Here,  in  Arcadia, 
she  could  develop  her  real  self.  She  tried  it  for  a  month, 
and  then  her  facile  passion  seized  on  a  new  project. 
She  conceived  the  idea  of  making  the  desert  blossom 
as  the  rose.  With  careless  extravagance  she  wired  for 
an  expert  from  Melbourne,  and  an  orgy  of  sowing  and 
budding  commenced.  Knowsley  Park  bloomed  into 
beauty. 

Knowsley  Park!  The  name  is  an  index  of  the  mind 
that  produced  it.  John  Lee  never  forgave  the  country 
of  his  adoption  the  fact  that  he  was  forced  on  its  hospi- 
tality. The  people  who,  with  ready  Australian  kindli- 
ness, bore  them  otf  to  visit  them  in  their  homes  were 
forced  to  listen  to  the  better  methods  that  prevailed  in 
the  old  world.  His  stiff-necked  English  prejudices, 
which  most  newcomers  find  melt  quickly  away  in  the 
warm,  genial,  generous  sunlight  of  Australia,  remained 
with  him  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  He  was  distant  to  his 
men,  paying  on  all  occasions  the  role  of  the  old  English 
squire,  blind  to  the  mirth  he  excited.  He  made  the 
blunder  of  thinking  the  sturdy  fellows  who  did  his 
work  were  Australian  peasantry.  Now  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  an  Australian  peasantry. 

It  excited  laughter  when  the  name  of  Knowsley  Park 
w^as  given  to  the  place  which  the  district  always  had 
known  as  "Wirregulla."    But  when  the  mistress,  play- 


8  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

ing  the  part  of  Lady  Bountiful  to  her  husband's  Squire, 
carried  to  the  independent  and  prosperous  homes  of 
the  village  people  gifts  of  her  own  superfluities,  with  a 
demand  for  inspection  of  the  premises  so  that  she  might 
pass  upon  their  cleanliness,  the  sounding  name  suggested 
a  corruption  which  stuck  to  the  Lees.  ' '  Nosey  Parkers' ' 
was  the  generic  term  by  which  the  "Wirregulla"  people 
became  known,  and  though  the  years  corrected  the  foolish 
mistakes  of  inexperience  and  prejudice,  and  the  feeling 
of  the  people  changed  to  something  like  affectionate  con- 
tempt, the  nickname  never  altered. 

Philip  was  born  in  1887,  just  after  the  famous  gar- 
den had  been  finished  in  front,  and  while  the  side  area 
still  remained  to  be  done.  It  was  time  for  a  new  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  baby  supplied  the  need  in  the  very  nick. 
The  side  garden  was  never  finished. 

That  was  Dr.  Payne's  introduction  to  the  family,  the 
latest  member  of  which  he  had  just  successfully  launched 
on  a  career.  He  watched  the  new  father  curiously,  as 
he  stood  by  the  bed,  looking  down  on  his  wife  and  the 
morsel  she  was  cuddling.  As  John  Lee  looked,  his  face 
worked  strangely.  He  was  a  queer-looking  man. 
Youth  had  long  departed  from  his  face,  scared  by  the 
old  soul  that  looked  out  on  the  world  through  such 
jaundiced  eyes.  Commonplace  in  feature,  a  small  nose 
took  all  character  from  his  face.  Time,  not  an  artistic 
worker,  had  used  his  burin  savagely,  and  engraved  deep 
brown  lines  on  either  side  of  the  insignificant  nose;  his 
eyes,  brilliant  still,  and  saving  the  face  from  banality, 
were  sunk  in  cavernous  depths;  his  hands,  wrinkled 
prematurely,  were  those  of  a  man  who  is  fated  not  to 
grasp  what  he  reaches  for;  they  possessed  that  habit 
of  the  weak  man,  gripping  each  other  behind  his  back, 
or  resting,  wrists  outward,  on  the  hips,  a  position  always 
assumed  by  indetermined,  irresolute  men.  Impatient 
eyebrows,  constantly  knitted,  gave  an  air  of  irritation 
to  the  whole  personality. 

"What  shall  we  make  of  him,  John?"  Cicely  looked 
apprehensively  at  the  irritable,  nervously  working  face, 
and  Payne  looked  at  them  both. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  9 

"He's  born  to  the  overlordship  of  more  than  a  few 
rotten  sheep,"  replied  John.  "If  only  the  world  hasn't 
a  down  on  him,  as  it  had  on  me,  we'll  make  him  a 
big  man. ' ' 

Afterwards  Pajiie  realized  how  characteristic  the 
assertion  was. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  'Hoxo  far  is  St.  Helena  from  a  little  child  at  play?' 

What  makes  you  want  to  wander  there  with  all  the  world 
between? 
Oh,  Mother,  call  your  son  again  or  else  he'll  run  away. 
{No  one  thinks  of  winter  when  the  grass  is  green!)" 

— A  St.  Helena  Lulla.bt 

FOURTEEN  miles  along  the  road,  a  pair  of  iron 
gates  formed  a  break  in  the  monotony  of  sheep- 
proof  fencing,  and  a  driveway,  straight  as  the 
road  itself,  gave  promise  of  a  house  somewhere  off  in 
the  immensity  of  flatness.  The  drive  was  bordered  with 
discouraged  English  trees,  not  yet  tall  enough  for  shade. 
They  formed  an  intrusive  note  in  the  landscape. 

The  gates  bore  the  name  of  the  place,  and  Kent  smiled 
as  the  incongruity  struck  him.  The  ornate,  gilt, 
archaic  lettering  looked  woefully  out  of  place.  The  im- 
agination of  the  novelist,  great  as  it  was,  bogged  vio- 
lently as  he  tried  to  see  in  the  flat,  brown  expanse,  with 
its  grazing  sheep  and  shelter-belts  of  eucalyptus,  any 
analogy  to  a  park. 

They  drove  along  the  avenue,  which  had  suffered 
bereavement.  Here  and  there,  an  oak,  hurt  and  won- 
dering at  the  unfltness  of  things,  had  given  up  the 
unequal  struggle ;  stiff,  dead  branches  starkly  reminded 
the  beholder  that  the  strength  of  which  the  oak  is  a 
synonym  may  only  be  attained  by  careful  selection  of 
soil  and  adequate  treatment. 

"There's  a  lesson  for  Lee  in  those  confounded  trees," 
remarked  Vayne,  when  Kent  had  given  expression  to 
an  idea  like  the  foregoing.  "His  boy  is  an  Australian, 
and  requires  Australian  handling;  instead,  it's  long 
odds  he  will  be  made  into  a  little  English  prig." 

10 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  11 

*  *  How  old  is  he  ? "  inquired  Kent. 

"Let's  see.  He  was  born  in  eighty-six — no,  it  wasn't ; 
it  was  in  eighty-seven,  the  year  of  the  big  grass-fire. 
That  would  make  him  just  on  eight." 

"How  do  you  manage  for  education  right  up  here, 
in  this  Back  o'  Beyond?"  asked  the  other,  curiously. 

"Education!  You've  come  to  the  proper  shop  for 
information,"  laughed  Payne.  "Behold  me" — thump- 
ing himself  on  the  chest — "chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Advice.  I 'm  on  the  School  Committee.  I  am  the  School 
Committee.  And  we've  got  the  finest  school  in  the 
State,  and  the  finest  teacher,  too.  Of  course,  you  know 
that  the  State  runs  all  primary  education?" 

"Oh,  damn  it,  I  didn't  ask  for  a  lecture.  By  Jovel 
that's  pretty.  That's  really  beautiful."  Kent  broke 
oflf  to  admire  the  prospect  that  had  suddenly  opened  out, 
like  a  scene  in  a  theater,  so  unexpected  was  it.  The 
flatness  had  broken  into  gracious  slopes.  The  drive 
fell  steeply  into  a  willow-planted  billabong,  dry  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  This  ran  out  into  a  shallow,  grassy 
valley.  On  the  further  side  of  this,  stood  the  house,  a 
wooden  bungalow,  half  hidden  by  pines  and  more  English 
trees,  sturdy,  big  fellows  these,  well-fed  and  watered. 

Kent's  enthusiasm  increased  as  thej^  approached  the 
place,  through  white  gates  that  ushered  the  road  into 
the  garden. 

The  latter  screened  the  house  on  two  sides,  apparently 
embowering  it  wholly  in  flowers.  Koses,  roses — and  yet 
again  roses,  in  a  riot  of  color  and  scent !  They  swarmed 
everywhere  in  unkempt  masses,  trailing  treacherous, 
thorny  beauty  over  the  paths;  climbing  triumphantly 
over  espaliers  originally  meant  for  fruit,  which  had  long 
since  succumbed  to  force  majeure;  lifting  thence  un- 
pruned  branches  to  heaven  in  defiance  of  all  seemly 
gardening;  blooming  uproariously  where  no  blooms 
should  be,  like  high-spirited  children  escaped^  from  a 
tired  governess — very  Bolsheviks  of  roses,  carrying  their 
masked  loveliness  and  intruding  beauty  wherever  order 
and  good  governance  forbade. 

A   gardener   would   have   gazed   grimly,    and   then, 


12  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

dropping  his  useless  tools,  he  would  have  blasphemed; 
an  artist  would  have  straightway  gat  him  to  pigments 
and  brushes;  a  lover  to  praising.  Odo  Kent  gazed  with 
ravished  eyes,  as  if  he  would  fill  his  soul  with  the 
gorgeous  and  lawless  spectacle.  Then  his  eye  traveled 
to  the  further  side  of  the  building.  Touzled  ugliness  met 
his  gaze.     Payne  laughed  at  his  ludicrous  consternation. 

**Our  enthusiasm  gave  out  before  we  got  to  that," 
he  explained.  ''Also  we  had  our  baby.  It  is  eight 
years  ago,  but  our  enthusiasm  has  never  traveled  back- 
wards yet.  Ours  is  a  single-track  mind.  "We  don't 
stop  for  shunting. ' ' 

"But  it's  a  positive  eyesore.  Why  doesn't  Lee  do 
something?" 

"Lee  wouldn't  notice  if  the  whole  place  were  like 
that.  He  is  a  sojourner  in  a  laud  of  exile.  When  his 
sheep  pay  well  enough  to  enable  him  to  buy  a  place  in 
England,  where  the  County  people  will  call,  he'll  up- 
stakes  here  and  get  him  homewards.     Pathetic,  isn  't  it  ? " 

They  had  skirted  the  weedy  beds,  driving  over  the 
flowers  which  had  sown  themselves  in  careless  profusion 
on  the  very  drive  itself,  and  Payne  pulled  up  in  front 
of  the  bungalow,  which  rose  out  of  the  tangled  mass 
like  a  Gulliver  beset  by  hundreds  of  clinging  Lilliputian 
hands.  It  was  flanked  by  deep,  shady  verandahs, 
whose  original  purpose  of  rest  was  sadly  interfered  with 
by  sinuous,  spiky  branches  of  the  ubiquitous  roses, 
which,  for  lack  of  room  to  climb,  had  elected  to  crawl. 
At  the  side,  a  high  tank,  raised  on  perilous  wooden 
stilts,  and  fed  by  a  windmill  which  clanked  drearily  in 
the  fitful  gusts  of  hot  summer  breeze  that  intermittently 
turned  the  creaking  vanes,  peered  above  the  roof. 

As  the  buggy  stopped,  their  arrival  was  noted.  A 
French  door  opened,  and  a  woman  stepped  out  on  the 
verandah,  Kent  had  time  to  note  an  air  of  distinction, 
and  an  unusual  beauty,  before  he  turned  away  to  avoid 
the  suspicion  of  staring. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Lee?"  PajTie  called  out, 
as  he  sprang  over  the  wheel.  "Got  your  mes??age  to 
come  over.     Nothing  wrong  with  the  boss,  I  hope.     Oh, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  13 

pardon  me,  may  I  introduce  Mr,  Odo  Kent?  He's  the 
writing  chap,  you  know;  but  before  he  did  that  he  was 
my  fag  at  Harrow." 

The  booming,  genial  stream  of  nonsense  bubbled  on, 
and  Kent  had  time  to  note  now  the  play  of  feeling  on 
a  face  that  was  singularly  expressive  of  every  passing 
ripple  of  emotion.  When  the  doctor  alluded  to  Lee  as 
"the  boss,"  a  quick  frown  apprised  the  attentive  observer 
in  the  background  that  the  cavalier  allusion  to  her 
husband  was  not  considered  humorous.  At  his  own  in- 
troduction, he  came  forward  and  took  the  hand  that  was 
held  out  to  him.  She  stood  on  the  top  step  of  the 
verandah,  and  he  three  steps  lower,  so  that  her  out- 
stretched had  was  presented  to  him  with  almost  a  regal 
gesture.  He  had  an  absurd  impulse  to  kiss  it,  in  an 
elaborate  greeting.  Some  women  liked  it;  it  was 
courtly ;  it  was  foreign.     He  decided  not  to  risk  it. 

"Mr.  Kent!  I  am  very  pleased  you  came.  Indeed 
I  know  your  books  well.  To  meet  a  celebrity  in  these 
wilds  is  as  pleasing  as  it  is  rare.  Please  come  into  the 
cool,  if  there  is  any  cool  this  terrible  day.  My  husband 
is  somewhere  about." 

As  she  spoke,  she  led  the  way  into  the  house.  It 
struck  Kent,  who  was  very  keen  to  note  social  nuances, 
that  Payne  and  his  boisterous  humor  were  not  particu- 
larly popular  at  Knowsley  Park.  His  own  welcome 
had  subtly  marked  him  out  as  different  social  material 
from  the  local  doctor. 

Payne  greeted  Lee  in  a  loud,  friendly  fashion,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  dark  drawing-room. 

"Hullo,  hullo.  Who's  sick?  Here  I  drive  out  on 
one  of  the  hottest  days  in  January,  and  can 't  even  make 
expenses  for  my  journey.  Well,  I'll  have  a  drink, 
anyway.  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Kent,  friend  of  mine, 
just  in  from  the  old  country.  He's  a  novelist,  but  thaA 
won't  convey  anything  to  you,  Lee.  You  tell  me  you 
never  read,  so  I'm  sure  Kent's  books  won't  tempt  j^ou. 
They're  awful — those  horrible  popular  things,  don't  you 
know," 

Lee  took  the  doctor's  jocularity  in  heavy,  stolid,  unen- 


\ 


14  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

couraging  silence.  He  shook  hands  with  Kent,  with 
courtesy.  One  of  Payne's  statements  had  evidently 
been  noted.  He  picked  it  out,  like  a  grain  of  wheat 
from  so  much  chaff. 

"From  England?  I'd  be  glad  to  have  a  long  talk 
with  you.  After  the  infernal  flatness  of  Australian 
vowels,  I'll  be  glad  to  hear  real  English  again.  In 
the  meantime,  I've  got  some  business  with  Payne. 
P'raps  you'd  like  to  see  the  garden.  'Fraid  Mrs.  Lee 
will  be  engaged  with  me  for  a  time,  but  you  may  like 
to  wander  round  by  yourself  a  bit." 

Perceiving  that  he  was  being  dismissed,  Kent  rose 
with  alacrity. 

"Certainly,  I  was  entranced  with  the  garden,  as  we 
drove  in.     It's  just  a  dream,"  he  said,  with  warmth, 

"A  hobby  of  mine,"  murmured  Mrs.  Lee.  "We 
won't  be  long,  Mr.  Kent.  Perhaps  you  and  the  doctor 
will  stay  and  have  some  tea,  and  drive  back  in  the 
cool?" 

She  led  him  from  a  dark  room  through  another 
French  window  into  the  brilliant  sunshine.  He  blinked 
rapidly,  like  an  owl.  "When  he  could  look  up  without 
distress,  he  found  he  was  alone.  The  French  window 
was  shut.  Without  more  ado  he  strolled  off  into  the 
tangle  and  began  to  enjoy  himself  as  only  a  flower- 
lover  can. 

Some  minutes  later  he  looked  up,  with  the  uncanny 
conviction  that  eyes  were  watching  him.  At  first  he 
could  see  nothing  to  account  for  the  feeling.  Then, 
behind  a  thick  screen  of  dead  fruit  branches,  matted  with 
rose  boughs,  he  perceived  two  eyes. 

"Hullo!"  he  said. 

"Hullo!"  the  eyes  replied. 

Kent  felt  a  queer  embarrassment.  The  beginning 
of  the  conversation  was  not  encouraging.  An  impulse 
to  walk  unconcernedly  away,  pretending  preoccupa- 
tion, was  rejected.  He  looked  up  again.  The  eyes  were 
still  on  him,  bright,  large  eyes,  full  of  intelligence,  full 
of  questioning.     He  essayed  a  brilliant  query. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked.     Like  an  echo  his  ques- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  15 

tion  was  thrown  back  at  him.     This  verbal  tennis  would 
soon  get  on  his  nerves.     He  made  an  effort. 

"My  name's  Kent.  I'm  a  friend  of  Dr.  Payne. 
Won't  you  come  out  and  talk  to  me?  "What's  your 
name,  in  the  first  place?" 

"Philip  Pascoe  Egerton  Lee,"  the  voice  that  belonged 
to  the  eyes  made  precise  answer,  with  an  old-fashioned 
exactitude  that  the  other  found  infinitely  charming. 
A  moment  later  Philip  made  up  his  mind  that  his  refuge 
was  unnecessary.  He  came  out  of  hiding,  and  stood 
revealed  as  a  boy  of  eight,  absurdly  and  unnecessarily 
beautiful,  straight  and  sturdy,  with  two  steady  eyes, 
unscreened  now  by  rose  leaves,  gazing  with  the  innocent 
curiosity  of  boyhood  at  the  stranger. 

"Ah,  that's  better.  Now  we  know  each  other.  I 
haven't  imposing  names  like  yours.  You  can  call  me 
Mr.  Kent." 

"Mister  Kent,"  the  boy  dutifully  echoed,  and  his 
voice  was  very  free  from  that  flatness  of  which  his 
father  had  complained  as  being  an  Australian  charac- 
teristic.    "What's  imposing?" 

Kent  entered  on  an  explanation,  only  to  find  that  the 
child  was  hopelessly  ignorant.  There  was  such  slender 
ground  common  to  both,  such  as  there  must  be  between 
the  teacher  and  the  taught,  that  the  man  had  to  laugh 
off  the  strange  embarrassment  the  boy  caused.  One 
thing  impressed  him — a  weird  charm  that  was  not  a 
thing  of  voice,  of  manner,  of  beauty,  but  which  seemed 
to  emanate  from  the  whole  personality  of  the  tiny  chap. 
Kent  felt  a  most  unusual  interest  in  the  child,  enhanced 
by  the  knowledge  he  had  gleaned  from  his  friend  Payne 
of  the  antecedents  of  the  parents. 

Whilst  he  was  searching  round  for  a  topic  which 
should  draw  Philip  into  conversation,  Mrs.  Lee  came  out 
on  the  verandah  and  called  the  boy.  With  a  bright, 
affectionate  smile  of  farewell,  the  youngster  ran  off. 
Interested,  speculating  on  the  Lees  and  their  curious 
history,  Kent  strolled  onwards. 

In  the  drawing-room,  as  soon  as  he  had  left  it,  the 
atmosphere  was  suddenly  electric.     Payne  had  sensed 


16  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

hostility  when  Mrs,  Lee  had  first  appeared,  but  he  had 
not  guessed  the  cause.  Genial  to  a  degree,  his  advice  was 
sought  in  quite  other  than  professional  ways,  and  he 
was  always  at  the  service  of  those  who  required  any  sort 
of  help.  But  there  was  another  side  of  his  character 
that  people  sometimes  got  a  glimpse  of,  and  seldom 
cared  to  repeat  the  experience.  He  possessed  a  straight- 
forward, honest  nature  that  dared  to  say  exactly  what 
he  thought,  careful  only  to  avoid  giving  unnecessary 
pain;  but  let  that  man  beware  who  thought  that  Payne 
could  be  bounced  into  doing  something  his  own  sense 
of  decency  or  honesty  condemned!  The  lightning  of 
scorn  was  likely  to  blast  him;  the  doctor's  geniality 
would  freeze;  the  kindly  face  would  grow  rigid,  the 
easy  voice  cutting.  Lee  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
discover  this.  He  was  about  to  put  hia  fingers  into  a 
wasp's  nest. 

As  soon  as  the  window  closed  on  Kent,  Payne  turned 
inquiringly  to  Lee. 

"Nothing  wrong  with  the  kid,  I  hope?" 

"No.  He's  all  right;  that  is  to  say,  my  dear  Payne, 
I — ^we — Mrs.  Lee  and  I,  are  both  anxious  about  him," 
Lee's  voice  had  that  pompous  note  which  one  often  finds 
in  an  Englishman,  addressing  one  he  thinks  is  slightly 
his  inferior.  Just  as  he  was  speaking,  his  wife  returned 
from  the  garden.     She  heard  her  husband's  last  words. 

*  *  Oh,  very  anxious,  doctor.  "We  want  you  to  say  that 
he  is  not  fit  for  any  severe  strain." 

Pavne  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"What's  it  all  about?"  he  asked.  *' Where's  the 
youngster?  If  there  is  any  mysterious  illness,  I  bet  I 
twig  it  quick  enough.     Is  he  in  bed  ? ' ' 

"Oh  dear  no,"  came  from  Mrs.  Lee.  "It  is  merely 
precaution  on  our  part.     He's  all  right  so  far." 

"Well,  better  let  me  judge  for  myself.  All  this 
sounds  like  a  conspiracy.  I  feel  like  sinking  my  voice. 
Where  the  dickens  is  the  kid?" 

The  big,  booming  voice  was  so  little  like  sinking 
that  it  was  raised  to  quite  a  loud  pitch.  Mrs.  Lee  gave 
a  little,  distressed  moan,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  head, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  17 

as  if  to  indicate  that  she  was  suffering.  The  hint  did 
not  have  its  desired  effect, 

"  I  '11  call  him  in,  but  really,  doctor,  it 's  unnecessary, ' ' 
she  exclaimed.  It  was  at  this  juncture  she  called 
Philip  away  from  Kent,  and  brought  him  inside. 

"Hullo,  you  young  radical,  and  what  have  you  been 
up  to?     Too  much  fruit,  I  suppose." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Philip  ran  to  him  and  sprang 
into  his  arms. 

"Hooray!  it's  you,"  he  cried. 

**  'Course  it's  me.  Didn't  you  recognize  Dandy 
outside?" 

"Yes — ^besides  the  man  told  me  he  was  your  friend, 
but  I  can  say  'hooray'  when  I  see  my  very  ownest  friend, 
can't  I?" 

"You  can  say  it  all  day.  I'd  be  very  proud.  Now 
let's  have  a  look  at  you.     Feel  all  right?" 

"  'Course  I  do.     I  always  feel  all  right,  silly." 

"You  do.  I'll  say  that  for  you.  A  healthier  young- 
ster I  never  did  see.  Here,  give  us  a  squint  at  your 
tongue. ' ' 

Philip  laughed  aloud  at  this. 

"Mum  sayg  you're  the  slingiest — no,  the  slangiest — ' 
man  she  ever  saw.  It's  because  you  say  'give  us  a 
squint.'    I'm  not  allowed  to  say  it." 

"So  I  am — ^the  very  worst  man  I  ever  met.  Your 
mother's  quite  right.  But  that's  because  my  education 
was  neglected." 

' '  What 's  that  ?  "  the  boy  asked. 

"Mean  to  say  you  don't  know?  That  shows  yours  is 
neglected,  too,"  said  the  doctor.  All  the  time  he  had 
been  making  a  hurried  examination  of  eyes,  throat  and 
nose.  The  Lees  said  never  a  word,  but  on  the  doctor's 
last  remark  Lee  interposed. 

"I  never  said  there  was  anything  wrong  with  the  boy, 
Payne,"  he  said,  irritably.  "For  Heaven's  sake  stop 
that  farcical  business.  Philip,  leave  the  room.  I  want 
to  talk  to  the  doctor." 

At  the  tone,  Payne  looked  curiously  at  the  speaker. 


18  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Philip  vanished,  with  a  rare  smile  at  his  friend.  Then 
the  doctor  turned  to  Lee. 

"Now  let's  have  the  explanation,"  he  said.  "You 
seemed  worried  over  something." 

"Oh,  we  are,  doctor,  we  are.  We  have  just  got  a 
notice  from  the  Government  that  Philip  must  go  to 
school." 

Payne  laughed  aloud — a  sudden,  immense  gale  of 
Homeric  laughter  that  turned  the  faces  of  the  absurd 
pair  of  Lees  into  black  wrath. 

"Good  Heavens!  What  a  terrible  experience! 
Forced  to  educate  your  only  child  I  Now,  what  in  the 
world  am  I  brought  out  fourteen  miles  for,  because  your 
boy  has  to  go  to  school?  Why  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
reasonable  should  he  not  go  to  school?  He's  the  most 
charming  ignoramus  I've  ever  come  across,  if  that's  any 
comfort  to  you." 

Lee  said  a  few  words  to  his  wife  in  a  low  tone,  and 
she  sat  down,  with  an  air  that  gave  him  complete  per- 
mission to  deal  with  the  matter. 

"I  don't  think  you  understand  the  position,  Payne. 
I  have  no  intention  of  allowing  my  boy  to  attend  the 
Government  school  in  the  village,  with  the  sons  of 
peasants.    He's  too  young,  anyway." 

"The  law  says  that  every  child  of  six  shall  go  to 
school.     It  need  not  be  the  public  school,"  said  PajTie. 

"There  is  no  other  here,"  Lee  explained.  "Our 
choice  becomes  limited,  you  see." 

"Get  him  a  governess  or  a  tutor,  then,"  exclaimed 
the  doctor  bluntly. 

"That  is  needless  expense,  especially  when  I  want 
all  the  money  I  can  lay  my  hands  on  for  an  experiment 
which,  if  successful,  will  enable  us  to  take  our  proper 
position  in  England.  I  cannot  consent  to  anything  that 
will  prejudice  that." 

"Then  there's  no  remedy.  He  must  go  to  the  public 
school,"  declared  the  doctor. 

"The  law  grants  a  loophole,  Payne,"  suggested  Lee. 

"Well,   let's   see   if   you're   small   enough   to   crawl 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  19 

through  it,  Lee,"  invited  Payne,  not  without  malicious 
intention  in  the  double  meaning  his  words  bore. 

"A  doctor's  certificate  that  the  boy  is  not  strong 
enough  to  go  to  school  would  give  me  a  respite,"  Lee 
looked  with  bright  eyes  at  Payne,  who  stood  facing  him. 

"But  the  boy  is  as  strong  as  a  horse,"  he  replied. 

"Surely  you'll  do  this  to  help  us,"  Lee  said. 

"I've  never  committed  perjury  even  to  help  myself, 
Lee,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  eyes  began  to  get  a  film 
of  ice  on  them,  which  should  have  warned  the  other  man. 
"You'll  have  to  go  through  with  it.  Wliat's  so  terrible 
about  the  public  school  ?  It 's  been  the  nursery  of  three- 
quarters  of  our  best  men." 

"Do  you  think  a  Lee  will  herd  with  ploughboys  and 
hobbledehoys?"  Lee  asked,  his  tones  raised,  and  his 
eyes  flashing. 

"There  are  ploughboys  at  the  school,  of  course,"  as- 
sented the  doctor;  "but  there  are  no  hobbledehoys.  Not 
a  boy  there,  from  the  tiniest  upwards,  who  couldn't  lick 
your  boy's  head  off  in  everything  that's  worth  doing." 

"Do  you  include  speaking  the  Queen's  English?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Lee  coldly.     Her  husband  struck  in. 

"Yes.  Do  you  consider  it  right  to  let  my  boy  herd 
there  with  boys  and  girls  like  Jim  "Wister's,  for  instance? 
They  say,  'It's  a  fine  dy,  Mr.  Lee — fine  for  Austrilyer.'  " 
He  laughed  angrily.  The  doctor  laughed  with  him,  in 
perfect  enjoyment. 

"Yes,  you've  made  out  a  case  against  "Wister's  kids. 
That  flat  'a'  of  the  Australian  child  is  ugly.  But  I'm 
going  to  bring  you  nearer  home,  Lee.  You've  made  this 
an  important  question.  It  isn't,  you  know;  but  I'll  take 
it  on  your  own  grounds.  You  stipulate  for  the  Queen  '3 
English,  but  you've  got  to  determine  what  that  is.  Is 
it  what  you  talk,  for  instance  ?" 

"I  speak  as  an  educated  man,  Dr.  Pajne.  I  want  my 
child  to  do  the  same."  John  Lee  was  on  stilts.  He  was 
being  outraged  by  this  vulgar  fellow. 

"No,  you  speak  as  an  Oxford  man,  Lee.  There's  quite 
a  difference.  Listen.  That  is  what  you  said  just  now. 
Listen  closely,  and  tell  me  how  it  must  sound  to  the  ear 


20  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

of  the  villager  you  laugh  at."  He  repeated  slowly  a 
remark  Lee  had  made  a  minute  ago:  *'  *Yas.  Do  you 
consider  it  raight  to  lat  mai  boy  hard  with  boys  and  gals 
laike  Jim  Wister's  thej^ah,  for  instance?'  That  was 
what  you  said,  and  is  isn't  the  Queen's  English." 

"Damn  your  impertinence,  Dr.  Payne,"  sputtered 
Lee. 

"You  asked  me  to  commit  perjury,  you  know,  Lee," 
put  in  PajTie,  smiling  with  his  lips,  but  with  his  eyes 
quite  frozen  now.  "I  think  you  owed  me  a  license  to 
be  impertinent  in  return  for  your  suggestion.  But  I 
wasn  't  being  impertinent.  We  were  having  a  philological 
discussion,  and  I  wanted  to  show  you  that  quaint  turns 
of  speech  and  pronunciation  are  due  only  in  part  to  edu- 
cation, much  more  to  climate  and  environment." 

"All  I  know  is  that  if  I  only  find  out  the  interfering 
blackguard  who  sent  information  to  the  Education 
Department  that  Philip  was  not  attending  school,  I'll 
have  something  to  say — something  to  do.  You  needn't 
tell  me  the  confounded  fools  in  Sydney  found  it  out  off 
their  own  bat." 

"I  don't  suppose  so,"  returned  Payne.  ^'What  could 
you  do,  if  you  knew?" 

"I'd  break  every  bone  in  his  body,"  threatened  Lee, 
looking  very  fierce. 

"Please,  John,  don't  talk  that  way,"  begged  his  wife. 

"Just  a  minute,  Mrs.  Lee,"  said  Payne;  "perhaps 
Mr.  Lee  doesn't  understand  the  system  of  education  in 
this  country?" 

"I  don't  want  to  understand  the  rotten  system,"  the 
infuriated  man  almost  shouted. 

"It's  not  a  rotten  system.  It's  one  of  the  best  in  the 
world.  And  the  best  point  about  it  is  the  one  you  object 
to.  It  is  compulsory.  Furthermore,  the  local  affairs  are 
administered  by  a  committee,  which  sees  that  the  inten- 
tions of  the  Government  are  not  mocked.  We  have  a 
man  here  who  is  entrusted  specially  with  that  duty.  It 
was  he  who  informed  the  Government  of  all  children 
of  school  age  in  the  district  who  were  not  in  regular 
attendance." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  21 

"If  you  don't  tell  me  his  name,  I'll  find  it  out  for 
myself,"  Lee  blustered.  Payne's  face  was  a  study  in 
silent,  icy  contempt,  as  he  looked  at  the  raised  fist  and 
the  congested  brow. 

**0h,  I'll  tell  you,  Lee.  It  was  the  man  you  asked 
to  forswear  himself.  It  was  myself.  You  did  fall  in 
properly,  didn't  you!" 


CHAPTER  III 

"To  the  hush  of  the  hreathless  morning 
On  the  thin,  tin,  crackling  roofs, 
To    the   haze   of   the    turned    blaclc-ranges 

And  the  dust  of  the  shoeless  hoofs — 
To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drowning, 
To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drouth — 
To  the  men  of  a  million  acres, 

To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South!" 

— The  Native-born 

PAYNE  gained  his  point  at  the  expense  of  friendship 
with  the  Lees. 
For  the  next  three  years  Philip  rode  his  pony 
to  the  tiny  villag^e  school,  which,  with  the  general  store 
and  post  office  and  a  few  straggling  houses,  made  up 
the  settlement  of  AVandilla.  A  parental  stop-watch  was 
put  upon  his  movements,  however.  He  left  the  gate  of 
the  homestead  at  a  fixed  hour  every  morning,  timed  to 
reach  his  class  as  school  was  assembling.  He  had  strict 
orders  to  leave  as  soon  as  the  afternoon  session  had 
finished.  This  plan  was  considered  to  bring  contamina- 
tion to  the  vanishing  point. 

"With  the  queer  perspicacity  of  childhood,  the  position 
wag  quickly  understood  by  the  other  children. 

The  tribe  of  Wisters — seven  of  them — who  came  to 
school  packed  tightly  on  two  horses,  knew  no  spiritual 
restraints,  and  recognized  no  class  distinctions.  Peter, 
the  second  Wister  boj'",  who  shared  one  of  the  horses 
with  a  brother  and  a  sister,  the  latter  in  the  middle  for 
safety,  was  a  freckled,  good-tempered  youngster  of  about 
the  same  age  as  Philip.  He  had  a  nature  so  dogged  and 
determined  that  his  fellows  at  the  school,  girls  and  boys, 
had  learned  to  give  way  before  it.  He  had  never  been 
known  to  bluster;  bullying  and  he  were  as  the  poles 

22 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  23 

asunder;  yet,  when  he  set  his  mind  on  a  thing,  that  thing 
came  his  way.  To  attack  him  physically  was  useless. 
He  took  punishment  without  flinching  from  older  boys 
who  thought  that  primitive  methods  must  prevail.  He 
faced  them,  as  he  faced  life,  solid  and  immovable,  his 
square  body  firmly  planted,  a  grin  on  his  lips  that 
humorously  displayed  a  wide  gap  once  filled  by  a  tooth 
lost  in  glorious  combat,  red  hair  like  a  gonfalon  waving 
through  the  crevices  of  an  old  slouch  hat. 

Such  is  the  childish  portrait  of  the  urchin  who 
developed  for  Philip  a  species  of  hero-worship.  Nor 
could  one  wonder  at  it.  His  day  began  at  five  in  the 
morning  with  the  cows,  and  ended  with  the  same  animals 
after  the  long  ride  from  school  was  over;  who,  at  an 
age  when  his  kind  in  England  are  still  babies  and  in 
tender  charge  of  elders,  was  ploughing  and  doing  the 
miscellaneous  work  of  a  farm  with  his  father  and 
George,  his  stolid  senior.  On  Peter,  then,  Philip  dawned 
suddenly,  as  a  being  from  another  sphere,  exquisitely 
dressed  in  a  real  riding-suit,  handsome  and  spotless, 
speaking  musically  a  different  language.  Peter  had  to 
thrash  a  friend  hitherto  dear  to  him  for  daring  to  imitate, 
with  thin,  mincing  voice,  an  observation  Philip  had  made 
on  his  first  day.  The  mingled  dirt  and  blood  with  which 
he  emerged  from  the  fray  was  an  excellent  cement  for  a 
friendship  that  had  no  end,  and  knew  no  rebuffs. 

For  a  week  Peter  made  no  attempt  to  take  advantage 
of  his  knight-errantry.  He  simply  stared  at  the  bright 
new  being,  who  ate  delicacies  whose  very  names  were 
unknown,  in  a  space  his  frigid  shyness  had  made  empty 
and  void.  Poor  child!  He  had  been  taught  that  these 
boys  and  girls  were  of  another  kind — peasants — material 
for  servants  and  workmen.  How  could  the  lonely, 
isolated  mind  divine  the  cruelty  and  ignorance  that  lay 
behind  the  injunctions  he  was  expected  to  obey? 

Philip's  pony  had  immediately  become  a  source  of 
admiring  curiosity  to  Peter.  He  felt  its  legs  surrep- 
titiously. The  discovery  of  a  splint  tortured  him.  He 
glanced  sidewaj^s  at  Philip,  eating  his  lunch  a  few  yards 
away.    He  knew  a  sure  remedy  for  a  splint.    Should  he 


24  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

impart  his  knowledge?  This  pony  was  a  magnet  that 
daily  drew  Peter  and  the  others  to  handle  and  admire. 
Peter,  who  had  never  bestrid  anything  but  the  third  of 
a  horse,  had  hitherto  found  his  cause  of  pride  in  that 
very  circumstance,  rejoicing  exceedingly  over  his  four 
unfortunate  brothers  and  sisters,  who  only  had  a  quarter 
of  a  quadruped  apiece.  This  is  a  common  thing  in  the 
bush.  There  is  one  school,  to  which  five  small  children, 
arranged  like  sardines,  ride  an  old  white  nag,  along  the 
giddy  edge  of  a  mountain  precipice.  Well  might  these 
youngsters  say — "a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing." 

Peter  confided  the  splint  remedy  in  a  loud  whisper.  It 
was  received  in  stony  silence.  It  is  doubtful  if  Philip 
knew  what  a  splint  was.  But  if  the  Lee  boy  expected 
to  rebuff  Peter  into  withdrawal,  he  knew  not  his  man. 
When  the  "Nosey  Parker  kid,"  as  he  was  soon  called, 
mounted  to  ride  home,  he  found  the  Wister  family,  whose 
way  lay  along  the  same  track,  awaiting  him.  Outriders, 
in  the  shape  of  the  four  assorted  Wisters  on  old  Dolly, 
moved  off  solemnly  in  front,  while  Peter  and  his  co- 
riders  closed  the  procession.  In  vain  Philip  tried  to 
get  away  from  this  humiliating  adulation.  His  pony, 
delighted  at  the  presence  of  companions,  and  restrained 
by  no  such  aristocratic  feelings  as  its  master,  merely 
tossed  its  head  at  the  tiny  flicks  of  the  whip,  and  settled 
down  into  a  pace  that  accommodated  itself  to  the  long, 
lumbering  strides  of  old  Dolly.  Meantime,  four  pairs 
of  Wister  eyes  turned  back  in  military  precision  to 
watch  the  red-faced  Philip,  while  at  the  rear  he  became 
conscious  of  six  additional  Wister  orbs  boring  into  his 
back  their  message  of  homage  and  admiration.  No  word 
was  spoken.  The  Wisters  had  inherited  a  splendid 
paternal  gift  of  silence. 

Wister,  perc,  had  a  farm  on  the  river.  From  him 
Peter  received  his  doggedness.  When  other  farmers 
complained  of  God  and  the  tax-gatherer,  Wister  merely 
"worked  earlier  and  later. 

Poll3%  his  wife,  looked  like  one  of  her  children  till 
you  got  a  close  view  of  her.  Under  five  feet,  every 
one  of  her  inches  was  an  inch  of  indomitable  humor. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  26 

To  make  up  for  the  taciturnity  of  the  rest  of  the  family, 
she  talked  incessantly.  A  river  of  conversation  rushed 
eternally  through  the  house,  fed  by  tiny  tributary 
streams  that  hardly  counted.  Polly  was  its  source. 
Her  conversation  continued  even  when  she  left  the  room 
and  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  dairy  or  cow-house,  many 
yards  distant  from  the  source  of  the  stream.  Her  light 
cheerful  tones  could  be  heard,  though  distance  rendered 
the  precise  words  indistinguishable.  On  her  return,  she 
finished  her  remarks,  oblivious  of  the  yawning  gap  that 
lay  between — "so  I  think  that's  the  last  we'll  hear  from 
her,"  she  might  cheerfully  conclude,  with  a  bright  smile, 
leaving  to  her  hearers'  imagination  the  important  details 
that  conditioned  the  anticipated  silence  of  "her."  It 
may  be  that  this  undue  loquacity  had  stunned  her 
offspring  into  silence. 

On  Philip  Peter's  persistent  adoration  had  at  last  an 
effect.  Nothing  human  could  have  resisted  it ;  certainly 
not  Philip  Lee 'a  friendless  heart,  craving  for  something 
or  someone  on  whom  he  could  pour  out  all  the  thoughts 
and  desires  that  childhood  engenders. 

He  was  wonderfully  quick  at  school.  Like  a  flash  the 
meaning  of  a  thing  would  jump  to  his  mind,  while 
the  others  would  still  be  groping.  Peter,  one  of  the 
slow  ones,  admired  this  tremendously,  and  presently 
Philip,  who  loved  to  display  himself,  was  helping  the 
duller  boy  with  explanations,  couched  in  the  language 
of  careless  pity.  But  what  Peter  once  understood  he 
never  forgot.  His  mind  was  a  bulldog  that  gripped 
tenaciously.  Luckily  he  had  a  friend  who  was  planning 
to  use  the  qualities  he  was  displaying  in  a  sphere  larger 
than  a  farmyard. 

Payne,  who  had  made  acquaintance  with  each  succeed- 
ing Wister  at  birth,  took  an  immense  interest  in  Peter. 
In  his  sureness,  his  unemotional  nature,  his  reliability, 
he  saw  the  makings  of  something  unusual.  With  this 
in  his  mind,  he  asked  Wister  one  day  what  he  was  think- 
ing of  doing  with  the  boy. 

**Well,  I  dunno'.  Doctor.  Y'see,  it's  like  this.  There 
ain't  enough  land  fer  'em  all,  an'  I  don't  s'pose  I'll 


26  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

ever  have  enough  money  to  set  'em  all  up  on  their  own 
places.  That  George  knows  as  much  as  me  'bout  horses 
an'  sheep.  So  does  Petey,  fer  that  matter.  Likely 
they'll  git  a  selection  somewheres  up  in  the  Mallee — 
wonderful  country  up  there.  Wheat !  Don't  talk  to  me 
'bout  it.  There's  wheat  up  there  'ud  make  your  mouth 
water." 

Said  the  doctor:  "Well,  Jim,  I  think  that  kid's  cut 
out  for  something  better  than  Mallee  farming.  Have 
you  ever  noticed  his  marvelous  power  of  observation? 
His  eye^s  a  magnifier,  I  believe." 

''Yes.  He's  mighty  good.  He  can  tell  the  number  in 
a  mob  of  a  coupla  thousand  sheep  to  a  dozen  or  so.  But 
there's  nothin'  in  that.  Plenty  kids  can  do  it.  Can 
meself." 

**I'm  going  to  try  and  push  him  along,  Jim.  Here's 
the  young  beggar  now.  By  Jove,  that  horse  of  yours 
won't  be  able  to  pack  those  kids  much  longer.  They're 
growing  like  gum-trees." 

Peter  and  George  came  up,  prepared  for  milking. 

"Come  here,  Pete,"  called  Payne,  and  the  boy  walked 
over  with  a  grin  of  pleasure. 

"Just  been  talking  about  you.  Ever  thought  what 
3^ou'd  like  to  be  when  you  grow  up?" 

The  grin  became  wider. 

"Aw,  go  on,  doctor.  Ain't  I  gotta  stop  here  an' 
help  with  the  place?" 

"Not  necessarily.  There'll  be  plenty  to  help  with  the 
place,  won't  there,  Jim?"  He  appealed  to  the  father, 
busy  mending  some  sacks. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  one  won't  make  much  difference,"  Jim 
answered,  not  looking  up. 

"There  you  are.  How'd  you  like  to  be  a  doctor,  like 
me?" 

"No  fear,"  Peter  smiled;  "I  ain't  clever.'* 

"Neither  am  I,  old  chap;  but  don't  let  on,"  confided 
the  doctor.     "How  about  a  lawyer,  then?" 

Peter,  with  visions  of  the  irritable  practitioner  whose 
appearance  on  a  farm  was  usually  a  forerunner  of  woe, 
was  violently  opposed  to  this  walk  in  life. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  27 

*'A-w,  rats,  doctor.  Everyone  'ud  hate  me,"  he  said. 
After  trying  several  other  suggestions,  Payne  gave  up. 
This  was  the  first  time  Peter  had  ever  had  occasion  to 
think  of  himself  out  of  relation  to  the  farm. 

"Like  school?"  was  the  next  question. 

"You  bet.    I  can  do  fractions.    Phil  showed  me  how." 

"So  Phil  is  a  pal  of  yours,  eh?" 

"My  word!  He's  goin'  to  be  a  great  man.  He  says 
he  is.  You  sh'd  hear  his  stories — things  that  happened 
to  him.  He  has  stacks  of  adventures,  jest  like  fellers  in 
books.  He's  goin'  to  let  me  have  a  book  about  two 
young  fellers  like  him  and  I.  We're  goin'  whacks  in 
it.     He  says  we  can." 

"Good  business.    So  he  tells  stories,  eh?" 

"My  word!  You  sh'd  hear  'im.  Excitin'!  No  name 
for  it." 

The  doctor  smiled.  He  knew  Philip's  trick  of  drama- 
tizing perfectly  ordinary  situations  so  that  they  became 
adventures.  It  was  the  boy's  refuge  from  the  drab 
monotony  of  his  empty  days.  His  mother  had  the  same 
habit  of  mind.  She  dramatized  herself  in  all  sorts  of 
ways.  It  was  the  source  of  most  of  her  passing  enthusi- 
asms. She  saw  herself  doing  certain  things,  with  admir- 
ing audiences  surveying  her,  and  she  straightway  began 
to  enthuse,  and  to  stage  her  fancies.  It  was  thus  she 
had  become  in  early  days  Lady  Bountiful. 

It  was  this  objectivity  Payne  recognized  in  Philip's 
passion  for  stories  with  himself  as  hero,  the  foundation 
of  commonplace  fact,  and  the  superstructure  of  airy 
fancy.  ,         ^  . 

"He'll  be  off  to  school  one  of  these  days,  Peter. 
Wouldn't  j^ou  like  to  go  as  well?" 

"Me?  What  school?  I  go  to  school  now,"  said  the 
boy  uncomprehendingly. 

"I  mean  to  a  big  school  in  Melbourne  or  Sydney." 

"A  public  school?"  asked  Peter. 

"Well,  yes.  They  call  them  public  schools,  but  they're 
not  the  sort  the  Government  run.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  Eton  or  Harrow?"  Payne  was  inclined  to  smile  at 
the  incongruity  of  the  idea  of  such  aristocratic  institu- 


28  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

tions,  and  the  funny  little  Australian  urchin,  seated  on 
the  top  rail  of  the  cow-paddock,  looking  down  on  him 
with  interested  blue  eyes,  above  a  thick  pow^dering  of 
golden  freckles, 

"Yes,"  Peter  answered  surprisingly,  "Phil  told  me. 
The  kids  all  wear  bell-toppers — I  seen  a  picture  of  'em 
in  a  book  he's  got — silly  little  blighters  they  looked,  too." 

"That's  the  place.  Well,  we've  got  great  schools  like 
that  in  Australia,  only  we  don't  let  'em  wear  toppers. 
How'd  you  like  to  go  and  live  in  one  of  them,  near  a 
big  river,  where  you  could  row?  You'd  also  learn  all 
sorts  of  things  you'd  like  to  know,  and  of  course  there 'd 
be  cricket  and  football " 

"Golly!"  Peter  breathed,  his  face  red  with  the 
thought  of  such  a  place. 

"Here,  doctor,"  interposed  "Wister,  "don't  put  them 
ideas  into  the  kid's  head.  D'ye  think  I  kin  afford  that 
sort  o'  thing?"  "Without  further  words,  he  fell  to  his 
task  again. 

"If  he's  the  kid  I  take  him  for,  he'll  afford  it  himself, 
Jim.  Put  an  idea  in  this  chap's  mind,  and  make  him 
see  it's  worth  while,  and  he'll  follow  it  up." 

"He  can't  go  follerin'  that  idea  up,  'cos  it  costs  too 
much  money,"  Wister  declared.  "And  if  he  don't  get 
to  milkin'  them  cows  in  two  twos,  I'm  goin'  to  foller 
him  up.    Him  an'  his  Etons!" 

"He's  got  a  head  on  him,  Jim "  Payme  began  to 

interpose. 

"An'  he'll  soon  discover  he's  got  a  tail  on  'im,  as 
well,  if  he  don't  git  to  work,"  Jim  remarked  conversa- 
tionally, without  a  trace  of  anger,  but  with  a  swift  grim 
look  at  Peter. 

The  boy  grinned  understandingly  at  Payne  and 
climbed  down  from  his  perch. 

"Come  on,  Pete,  you  milk  and  I'll  talk,"  the  doctor 
suggested. 

He  did  talk,  and  for  the  first  time  Peter  heard  that 
the  Government  granted  splendid  scholarships  for  com- 
petition among  the  pupils  of  the  primary  schools.    The 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  29 

poorest  child  in  the  country  need  never  let  his  brains 
rust  for  want  of  a  chance. 

The  idea  was  planted.  Peter  had  before  his  dazzled 
eyes  the  winning  of  one  of  these  coveted  scholarships. 
Dr.  Payne,  an  hour  later,  left  a  boy  who  was  milking 
his  tenth  cow  in  a  deep  abstraction,  in  which  Strawberry 
became  a  figure  of  the  world.  The  world  for  Peter 
Wister  was  not  an  oyster,  but  a  cow,  from  which  the 
clever  fingers  of  a  college  boy  were  passing  the  white 
streams  of  success  and  affluence. 

And,  by  one  of  those  coincidences  which  are  so  com- 
mon, almost  at  the  very  time  the  doctor  was  discoursing 
of  the  wonders  of  Australian  public  schools,  John  Lee 
was  delightedly  reading  for  the  sixth  time  a  letter  from 
the  Head  of  Eton,  intimating  that  after  the  ensuing 
summer  holidays  a  place  would  be  made  for  his  son. 

"Since  I  made  such  a  failure  with  the  wool  this  season, 
there's  little  chance  for  us  to  go  back  to  our  proper 
position,"  Lee  said  to  his  wife,  *'but  at  any  rate  I  can 
spend  enough  to  let  the  boy  take  his  place  among 
gentlemen. ' ' 

Cicely  essayed  a  protest. 

*'But  they  say  the  schools  here  are  quite  good,  John. 
The  Melbourne  Grammar  School " 

**  You've  been  talking  to  Payne.  'Pon  my  soul,  no  one 
would  ever  think  that  fellow  was  an  Englishman,  the 
way  he  cries  up  these  tin-pot  institutions  out  here. 
Doesn't  it  stand  to  reason  that  England,  with  its  hun- 
dreds of  years  of  civilization,  can  do  things  better  than 
a  place  that  fifty  years  ago  was  alive  with  naked 
savages  ? ' ' 

"But  Dr.  Payne  is  an  educated  man — a  Harrow 
man ,"  she  began,  once  more. 

"Payne  has  ratted  on  his  country  and  his  kind,"  Lee 
snapped.  "The  man  is  convicted  out  of  his  own  mouth. 
He  told  me  he  had  come  out  with  English  ideas— 
'crusted  with  them'  was  the  term  he  used— -but  that 
before  he  was  two  years  in  the  country  he  had  decided 
to  be  a  complete  Australian,  because — could  there  be  a 
more  sordid  reason  for  forswearing  one's  native  land? — 


30  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

he  said  that  a  country  that  was  giving  him  his  living 
deserved  to  have  his  life,  without  any  reservation.  Abso- 
lute rot!  Phil  is  an  English  boy,  and,  by  the  Lord, 
Cicely!  an  English  boy  he's  to  remain.'* 

"But  he'll  have  to  earn  his  living  in  Australia," 
argued  Mrs.  Lee.  **It  will  be  a  handicap  to  come  back, 
with  all  his  friends  in  England,  and  begin  life  afresh 
here.     Whereas,  if  he  went  to  school  here " 

"Don't  I  keep  telling  you  there  are  no  schools  here? 
Do  you  call  those  beastl}^  shops,  where  every  Giles  and 
Hodge  can  send  his  child  if  he  happens  to  have  the 
money,  schools?  They  may  turn  out  an  occasional  fel- 
low as  a  teacher  or  a  professional  man — but  a  gentleman, 
never.  And  that's  precisely  what  you'd  expect  from  a 
country  where  a  man  may  work  for  you  to-day,  and 
to-morrow  may  be  patronizing  you  because  of  a  lucky 
throw,  which  has  given  him  ready  money.  I  put  down 
Phil's  name  for  Eton  when  he  was  a  tiny  chap.  "What 
a  fool  I  would  be  to  fling  away  the  chance  now  it  has 
come! 

"Besides,"  Lee  went  on,  taking  advantage  of  his 
wife's  silence  to  cover  the  whole  ground,  "his  people 
may  do  something  for  him,  if  they  see  him " 

"But  surely  that  would  be  an  insult  on  their  part 
to  offer  to  do  anything.  I  would  never  accept  a  far- 
thing from  that  woman." 

"By  God,  Cicely,  they  owe  it  to  me.  The  old  man 
swindled  us — just  rooked  us  like  any  Jew  in  the  city. 
Surely  that  woman  and  her  boy  ought  to  do  the  decent 
thing  by  Phil." 

Mrs.  Lee  stood  up  and  faced  her  husband.  "Some- 
times I  wonder  if  Phil  will  ever  be  a  gentleman,  John," 
she  said. 

"And  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  why  not?"  he 
demanded. 

"Because  his  father  is  such  a  cad,"  she  replied,  icily, 
and,  with  a  heart  on  fire,  natural  for  the  first  time 
in  years,  she  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  ly 

**lf  1  have  taken  the  common  clay 
And  wrought  it  cunningly 
In  the  shape  of  a  God  that  was  digged  a  clod. 
The  greater  honor  to  me." 

— The  Light  that  Failed 

WITH  the  unnecessary  secrecy  parents  often 
assume  as  part  of  their  Olympian  equipment 
as  high  gods,  Philip  was  not  told  of  his  impend- 
ing departure.  As  six  months  were  to  elapse  before 
he  would  leave,  it  is  possible  that  the  object  of  this 
silence  was  not  to  unsettle  his  mind  during  what  re- 
mained of  his  school  life  in  Australia. 

After  her  sudden  outburst  on  the  evening  the  letter 
from  Eton  arrived,  Mrs.  Lee  had  given  no  token  of 
protest,  still  less  of  rebellion.  She  had  long  known  the 
weak,  obstinate  nature  of  the  man  she  had  married,  and 
realized  the  futility  of  words  in  combating  his  desires. 
Since  there  was  none  of  her  own  kind  to  give  her  the 
relief  of  sympathy,  she  withdrew  into  herself  and  sought 
surcease  in  changing  mental  excitements. 

Meantime  things  went  on  much  as  before  for  Philip. 

Phil  heard  Payne's  plans  for  Peter  with  lordly  dis- 
dain, and,  as  master,  was  inclined  to  resent  not  being 
consulted.    With  the  brutality  of  childhood,  he  laughed. 

"You  win  a  scholarship!"  he  scoffed.  "You're  a 
mutton-head.  You  could  never  win  one  in  a  month  of 
Sundays," 

"I  could,  too,"  retorted  Peter.  "Dr.  Payne  says  I 
could.  Anyway,  I'm  jolly  well  going  to.  If  you're  so 
clever,  why  don't  you  try  for  one  yourself?" 

"Pooh!  it's  a  kid's  game,"  he  said. 

31 


S«  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"If  you  won  one,  we  could  go  to  school  together," 
Peter  suggested.  "Come  on,  Phil,  have  a  shot  at  it. 
We  can  work  together." 

Phil  thought  a  moment.  Then  a  wild,  overwhelming 
desire  to  astonish  these  people  and  come  out  on  top 
flamed  in  his  heart.  A  despairing  after-thought 
quenched  it.  What  would  his  father  say  ?  He  was  sure 
to  forbid  it.  Then  he  took  a  resolution.  Without  a 
word  to  Peter,  he  rose  and  marched  into  the  empty 
schoolroom,  where  the  teacher.  Miss  Johnson,  was  having 
her  lunch. 

"Please,  Miss  Johnson,  could  I  work  with  Peter  for 
a  scholarship?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly,  Philip." 

"I  mean — ^without — without  my  having  to  do  any 
extra  work  at  home?"  he  supplemented. 

"I — I  suppose  you  could.  You're  very  quick  at  pick- 
ing up  things.  But — does  your  father  want  you  to  take 
the  exam.?"    She  was  doubtful. 

<*No — ^yes,  he  does.  He'd  be  very  pleased."  The 
overmastering  desire  displaced  strict  accuracy.  "But 
I  want  to  surprise  him — surprise  them  both.  They'll 
be  pleased  if  I  win  a  scholarship.  It's  worth  heaps  of 
money,  isn't  it?" 

"Not  heaps,  dear.  But  it  will  send  you  to  a  splendid 
school  for  four  years,  and  will  give  you  a  chance  at  the 
University  afterwards,"  she  explained. 

"I  must  do  it — I  simply  must  do  it,  Miss  Johnson," 
he  pleaded,  his  eyes  bright  with  desire.  "Won't  you 
let  it  be  a  secret  between  us  two — and  Peter  ?  Please- 
please."  ^^ 

"Why,  of  course,  you  funny,  darling  little  chap, 
she  said  brightly,  giving  him  the  first  victory  he^  was 
to  win  over  women  with  his  persuasive  charm.  "I'll 
love  to  help  you,  and  we'll  keep  it  dark.  Mum's  the 
word,"  she  finished,  her  eyes  dancing  with  fun,  her 
finger  on  her  lip. 

"Fair  dinkum?"  asked  the  English  boy  in  faultless 
Australian. 

"Square  dinkum,"  replied  the  ally. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  33 

Peter  was  delighted,  when  Phil  stepped  outside  and 
gave  a  yell.    But  he  looked  doubtful. 

''What  about  Eton?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  blow  Eton.  Father's  always  talking  about  it, 
but  nothing  ever  happens.  If  we  win  scholarships,  which 
college  will  we  go  to,  Peter?" 

**  Mother  says  to  Wesley,  because  her  father  was  a 
Methodist,"  exclaimed  Peter. 

"Then  I'll  go  to  Wesley.  My  father's  nothing," 
Philip  told  him.  "There's  nothing  I  ever  wanted  so 
badly  as  to  win  a  schol.  and  go  to  Wesley  with  you. " 

Then  a  period  of  hard  work  started  for  them  both. 

The  examinations  were  but  a  fortnight  off,  when 
Philip  found  that  the  high  gods  were  dealing  with  his 
case,  ex  parte. 

The  seven  hungry  Wisters  were  seated  round  the  table, 
at  the  head  of  which  sat  the  parent  male  Wister.  In 
the  middle  of  the  festive  board  a  kerosene  lamp  smelt 
badly.  Mrs.  Wister  hovered  round  making  lightning 
flashes  with  a  frying-pan  to  each  plate  in  turn,  deposit- 
ing thereon  a  savory  helping,  which  by  this  wise  proc- 
ess was  certain  of  being  hot.  As  his  or  her  plate  was 
filled,  each  little  Wister  in  turn  darted  on  the  food,  with 
the  quickness  and  greed  of  a  cormorant.  The  flow  of 
talk  was  bubbling  on  as  usual. 

"An'  that  Mrs.  Lee  she  came  to  see  me  to-day.  You 
was  all  away.  I  see  her  comin',  an'  there  was  me  not 
so  much  as  cleaned  meself.  She  stood  there  in  the  door- 
way, all  dressed  up  to  the  nines  as  if  it  was  for  a  party — 
I  gi'^e  you  a  big  helpin',  Emmy,  an'  you'll  have  to  wait ; 
I  an't  et  a  bite  meself  yet — an'  before  I  cud  dust  a 
chair  for  'er " 

The  narrative  voice  was  suddenly  changed  for  the 
agitato  of  domestic  tension.  A  slight  noise  attracted  her 
attention. 

"There's  that  dratted  cat  in  the  parlor  agin.  I  c'n 
hear  it — there,  I'll  bet  it's  knocked  over  father's  photer. 
I'll  warm  it  up." 

She  vanished,  but  her  voice  was  heard  in  measured 


34.  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

sentences,  though  verbally  fogged  by  distance.     In  a 
minute  she  was  back,  and  the  narrative  flowed  on. 

"So  I  upped  an'  said  straight,  I  said,  'Me  fine  madam,' 
I  said,  'if  I  had  the  servants  some  people  has,  me  house 
would  be  cleaner 'n  a  noo  pin.  But  if  it's  too  dirty  to 
come  inter,  why  don't  some  people  stay  at  home?'  I  told 
'er!    'Fine  feathers,'  I  saj^s " 

"Now,  mother,  ye  know  ye  never  said  all  that  to 
Mrs.  Lee — you,  the  best  tempered  woman  in  Riverina, 
and  a  lady  besides,"  Jim  said. 

Mrs.  Wister  smiled  widely. 

"G'long,  Jim,  I  did  say  it.  I  jest  had  to  ease  me 
feelin's.  But  I  reckon  she  was  near  home  by  that  time, 
so  no  harm's  done.  But  I  will  say,  Jim,  of  all  th' 
interferin'  janes  I  ever  met — my  goodness,  if  there 
ain't  someone  on  the  porch  all  the  time.  I  knoo  it 
wasn't  the  cat." 

She  flew  to  the  door,  and  Philip  walked  in,  cap  in 
hand. 

"I  want  to  see  Peter,  Mrs,  "Wister,"  he  said. 

"If  it  ain't  Philip,  an'  me  just  talkin'  about  his  ma. 
Sit  down,  laddie,  an'  take  a  bite  o'  my  pertater  cakes. 
Best  pertater  cakes  in  the  Riverina,  though  I  says  it 
as  shouldn't." 

"I've  got  to  go  to  Eton,  Peter,"  Philip  burst  out,  as 
soon  as  he  found  an  opening.  "It's  a  shame,  and  the 
exam,  in  a  few  days." 

Peter  sensed  the  awful  calwetrophe  better  than  the 
others.  Anything  that  ever  interfered  with  one  of 
Philip's  cherished  plans  was  an  awful  catastrophe. 

"P'raps  if  you  went  and  won  a  schol.  Nosey-Parker 
— I  mean — p'raps  Mr.  Lee  would  let  you  off  Eton,"  he 
suggested,  while  the  embarrassing  brood  of  silent  Wisters 
stared  with  all  their  might. 

"Let  him  off  eatin'!  But  goodness  gracious,  child, 
you  must  eat,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wister.  Somewhat 
pompously  Peter  explained,  from  the  height  of  his 
greater  knowledge. 

"Bless  my  soul,  what  a  name  to  give  a  college.  An' 
I  dessay  not  too  much  of  it  goin'  on,  in  spite  o'  th* 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  35 

grand   name.     I    s'pose   to    make   th'    parents'   minds 
easy, ' '  she  concluded,  brightly.     ' '  Alwaj's  up  to  tricks. ' ' 

''But  we've  got  to  go  to  Sidney  for  the  exam. 
He  wouldn't  let  me  go,"  said  the  poor  youngster. 
Besides,  he  thinks  these  colleges  here  are  just  tosh. 
He  hates  colonial  things  like  poison.  It's  all  up, 
Peter."  ^ 

He  looked  heartbroken.  His  face  was  white,  his 
hands  shaking.  Great  dark  circles  made  his  eyes  look 
unnaturally  large  and  fever-bright.  Emotion  must  have 
surged  almost  to  insanity  to  bring  him  at  night  to  the 
Wisters.     Suddenly  he  gave  a  sniff. 

*'My  gracious,  the  boy's  cryin'!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wister. 

"I'm  not,"  Philip  denied,  in  a  stifled  voice.  'What 
rotten  form  of  the  women  to  direct  public  attention 
to  the  fact !  Next  moment  the  door  slammed  behind  him, 
and  in  the  stillness,  which  even  Mrs.  Wister  suffered 
for  a  full  minute,  the  flying  hoofs  of  his  pony  beat  out 
a  tattoo  on  the  hard  clay  road. 

"It's  a  shame,"  Peter  declared.  "If  I  had  a 
father  like  his,  I'd— I'd— run  away,"  he  finished, 
furiously. 

"Yes,"  gibed  John,  "like  blazes  you  would.  "With 
a  sore  tail,  too,  if  I  heerd  ye  talk  like  that.  Sit  down 
at  once,  or  I'll  take  me  strap  off.  You  let  fathers 
manage  their  own  kids,  Mr.  Smarty,  an'  I'll  manage 
mine.  And  you  git  it  out  of  your  head  that  you  kin 
put  the  whole  world  right." 

The  threat  to  "take  his  strap  off"  was  known  to 
each  young  "Wister  of  them  all  as  a  solvent  of  rebellion. 
"The  strap"  was  Jim  Wister 's  buckler  against  family 
dissension  and  his  own  shield  of  decency.  It  had  seldom 
been  taken  off,  save  in  the  legitimate  process  of  undress- 
ing. It  held  his  pants  up,  except  when  it  was  in  use 
as  a  flagellant,  and  on  those  rare  occasions  his  garments 
were  upheld  only  by  a  strong  sense  of  rectitude.  In 
after  life  Peter  often  thought  how  the  presence  of  mind 
to  give  a  surreptitious  tug  would  have  brought  an  end 
to  punishment. 


30  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 


Under  the  threat  the  "Wister  meal  dragged  to  a  con- 
clusion, quiet  even  for  them. 

At  the  Park,  Philip's  restraint  had  given  way.  He 
had  built  up  an  entirely  fantastic  idea  of  the  kudoa 
the  winning  of  a  scholarship  would  give  him.  His  child- 
ish hopes  were  built  into  the  thing.  With  the  clarity 
of  the  actual  event,  and  with  considerably  more  than 
its  brilliancy,  he  had  visualized  himself  as  the  winner 
of  the  first  place.  To  be  precluded  from  even  trying 
for  it  was  to  him  the  wildest  injustice — the  most 
monstrous  tyranny. 

Mrs.  Lee,  knowing  his  nature,  felt  that  he  might  be 
capable  of  the  most  alarming  lengths,  if  his  heart's  de- 
sire were  ruthlessly  trampled  on.  She  knew  by  now  all 
the  poor  secret,  which  was  to  do  such  great  things,  and 
she  was  frightened,  as  she  listened  to  her  son's  cries  and 
tears,  into  sending  for  the  hated  Dr.  Payne. 

Payne  felt  his  pulse,  and  took  his  temperature,  after 
he  had  listened  to  his  story. 

"Over  100.  Nothing  to  worry  about  in  a  child. 
Racing  pulse,  too.  I  say,  Mrs.  Lee,  you'll  have  to  go 
very  steady  with  this  infant."  He  eyed  her  curiously. 
"He's  not  quite  a  normal  child.  I  should  say  he  re- 
quires the  utmost  care  and  training  a  mother  can  give 
him,  even  if  it  meant  a  bit  of  a  sacrifice.  Is  he  going 
to  Eton?" 

"Mr.  Lee  is  set  on  it,"  she  told  him, 

"Huge  blunder,  apart  from  the  essential  stupidity 
of  sending  any  Australian  boy  away  from  his  own 
natural  environment  to  get  an  education.  That's  none 
of  my  business,  but  with  this  child  it  is  my  business  to 
warn  you  that  he's  not  the  type  to  send  away  at  this  age 
to  any  boarding-school." 

"I  agree  with  you,  Doctor  Payne;  but  tell  me  just 
why  you  say  that,"  she  begged. 

"He  has  an  excitable  brain — and  a  very  unusually 
clever  one,  I  believe.  It  will  require  checking;  but 
there's  only  one  sort  of  check  he  will  stand — the  sort 
that  comes  from  unbounded  love.  Some  day,  if  he  is 
not  trained  properly — and  you  are  the  only  one  to  do 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  37 

that — ^he  will  set  his  heart  on  something,  perhaps  not 
as  easy  to  get  as  this  scholarship,  and  if  it  is  out  of 
reach,  things  will  happen.  Keep  him  with  you,  Mrs. 
Lee,  keep  him  with  you." 

"But  his  father  won't  hear  of  it.  I  know  definitely 
he  won't  allow  Philip  to  be  educated  here,"  she  said. 

"You  love  him,  don't  you?"  asked  Payne,  gently. 

**0h,  doctor,"  she  said,  gently. 

"Then  let  me  give  you  some  advice — not  profession- 
ally, but  as  a  man.  Fight  his  father  for  him.  If  you're 
weak,  he'll  ruin  this  little  chap — ruin  him  beyond  all 
question.     Think  it  over,  Mrs.  Lee." 

"But ,"   she  began,   a   perplexed   line   running 

across  her  forehead. 

"It's  up  to  you,"  he  cut  in.  "Now,  about  this  exam. 
I  won't  answer  for  the  child  if  he's  not  allowed  to  go  up 
for  it.  It's  a  harmless  sport  answering  their  idiotic 
questions.  Take  a  run  to  Sydney  with  him,  and  let  him 
sit  for  it." 

"But  it  will  be  so  futile,  Mr.  Lee  is  so  set  against 
the  whole  system  in  the  colonies " 

Payne  laughed. 

^  *  Too  crude,  I  suppose.  I  'd  like  Lee  to  meet  the  judges, 
the  professional  men,  the  engineers  and  what  not  who 
have  gone  through  the  mill  here.  My  own  shop  at  home 
was  a  decent  place,  but  the  standard  at  the  Sydney  and 
Melbourne  Universities  in  medicine  is  so  high  that  it 
was  a  toss-up  whether  I  wouldn't  have  to  sit  for  a  further 
exam,  before  they  admitted  me  to  practice.  Mr.  Lee' is 
insane  on  that  point.  Anyway,  the  boy  must  be  allowed 
to  go  up  for  this  exam.  That's  the  long  and  short  of 
it,  and  I  am  master  in  a  case  of  illness.  Where's  Lee 
now?" 

"He  won't  see  you.  Doctor."    Payne  laughed. 

"Then  I'll  see  him.  It  is  necessary.  Where  is  he? 
In  the  dining-room?  All  right.  You  stay  here.  I'll 
find  him." 

Half  an  hour  later  Dr.  PajTie,  thoroughly  exasper- 
ated, but  victorious,  emerged  from  the  dining-room. 
Philip  was  to  go  and  present  himself  for  examination. 


88  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

So  the  boy  won  the  battle.  He  won  a  scholarship,  too, 
and  on  the  representations  of  the  doctor  might  have 
made  good  his  full  desires,  and  been  entered  at  Wesley 
College.  But,  with  the  victory  he  won,  his  ambitions 
were  satisfied.  An  indifference  set  in,  after  all  the 
congratulations  were  over.  The  excitement  of  the 
voyage  and  the  new  strange  school  world  he  would  enter 
in  England  possessed  him,  and  Wesley  College  looked 
cheap.  Peter  had  been  successful,  too,  and  was  cock- 
a-hoop  when  he  heard  that  the  choice  of  a  school  was 
in  his  friend 's  hands. 

**Good  business.     We  can  both  go  together,"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  interested  in  Wesley  now,"  the  hero 
remarked.  "I  wanted  to  find  out  if  I  could  win  the 
schol.  I  don't  want  to  bother  about  a  tin-pot  place  like 
Wesley.  Daresay  father's  right,  and  they're  a  rum 
lot." 

He  had  just  completed  his  eleventh  year. 

Dr.  Payne  looked  at  him  reflectively  when  he  met 
the  boy  and  heard  his  raptures  about  Eton.  He  knew 
that  Mrs.  Lee,  now  Philip  had  recovered  his  health, 
thought  him  a  fussy  old  woman,  and  had  no  intention 
of  putting  up  the  fight  he  had  recommended. 

*'So  you're  mad  on  a  thing  till  you  get  it,  are  you, 
my  boy?"  he  thought.  **H'm!  I  wonder  what  Life  is 
going  to  do  with  you.  Some  day  you'll  be  up  against 
it— hard." 


CHAPTER  y 

"There  we  met  with  farnous  men 
Set  in  office  o'er  us; 
And  they  beat  on  us  with  rods — 
Faithfully   with  many  rods — 
Daily  beat  on  us  with  rods, 
For  the  love  they  bore  us!" 

— ^A  ScHooii  Bono 

A  PASSENGER   in    an    express   train    can   know 
little  of  the  country  through  which  he  is  whirled 
to  his  destination.     Only  a  few  salient  features 
leap  to  his  eye — ^a  mountain  there — ^here  a  river — over 
there  a  church  folded  in  the  hills. 

It  is,  of  course,  possible  for  him,  bored  with  the 
irritating  jerkiness  of  a  landscape  seen  in  such  flashes, 
hidden  by  an  embankment  or  a  tunnel  just  as  it  begins 
to  appeal,  to  pull  down  the  blinds,  and,  with  a  grim 
exasperation,  settle  himself  in  the  corner  with  his  eyes 
shut. 

The  reader  may  avail  himself  of  a  similar  safeguard, 
as  we  hurry  through  to  our  main  theme.  The  few 
scattered  incidents  of  boyhood,  which  here  serve  to 
illustrate  character  in  the  making,  may  be  regarded 
simply  as  sign-posts,  which  the  knowing  wayfarer  may 
disregard. 

The  Peter  Wister  who,  at  twelve,  timorously  entered 
his  name  in  the  big,  gray  College,  which  squats,  low 
and  wide,  at  the  further  end  of  beautiful  playing- 
fields,  from  behind  which  it  peers  out  at  the  tide  of 
traffic  which  flows  along  one  of  the  loveliest  boulevards 
in  the  world,  was  vastly  different  at  first  glance  from  the 
Peter  who,  at  seventeen,  was  finishing  his  last  year  in 
the  blaze  of  glory  that  encompasses  the  stroke  of  a 
crack  Rowing  Eight, 

89 


40  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

The  red  head  was  there,  its  exuberance  slightly  toned 
by  the  years;  the  cheery  grin  was  still  doing  duty  at 
the  old  stand — the  blue  eyes  were  as  indomitable  as  ever; 
but  this  big,  broad-shouldered  fellow  was  not  otherwise 
remindful  of  the  bush  boy  who  used  to  pay  silent  homage 
to  Philip  Lee  and  his  pony. 

It  was  the  last  practice  before  the  big  Inter-Schools 
Race,  the  classic  event  of  the  school  year.  Nowadays 
half  a  dozen  famous  schools  take  two  days  to  compete 
for  the  coveted  position  as  Head  of  the  River,  while 
fifty  thousand  people  yell  and  cheer  their  favorite  boat. 
In  Peter's  last  year  the  excitement  lacked  nothing, 
though  the  numbers  were  not  as  great  as  are  attracted 
to  the  event  to-day. 

On  this  May  afternoon  hundreds  of  small  boys  jostled 
and  elbowed  their  way  in  a  seething  crowd  round  the 
AVesley  boat  house.  The  crew  were  coming  out.  Purple 
caps  bobbed  on  the  surface  of  the  throng,  eddied  wildly 
a  moment,  perhaps  to  be  seen  no  more.  Caps  were  at 
that  day  and  place  spoils  to  the  victor,  to  be  exhibited 
as  did  Indians  their  scalps,  as  trophies  well  fought  for. 

*'Good  old  Wesley!"  The  cry  was  flung  to  the  winds 
in  all  cadences  and  varying  degrees  of  shrillness.  And 
yet  this  was  not  the  event  itself,  only  a  rehearsal.  One 
would  have  feared  these  infants  were  making  serioua 
overdrafts  on  the  Bank  of  Anticipation. 

**Here  they  come!"  called  out  the  favored  few  on 
the  inner  circle,  and  the  mass  surged  forward  irresis- 
tibly. The  bright  brown  of  the  boat  gleamed  in  the 
pale  sunlight,  and  the  prow  began  to  cleave  a  way 
through  the  crowd.  So  might  the  Viking  forbears  of 
these  lads  have  carried  to  the  waves  the  latest  warboat. 

''There's  Peter!  Good  old  Peter!  Sock  it  to  'em 
to-morrow.  "We  won't  do  anything  to  Grammar,  oh,  no,'* 
they  chanted,  like  a  saga,  the  excess  of  negatives  making 
an  affirmation  more  appalling  than  mere  statement  could 
possibly  have  done.  Cries  as  varied  as  the  individuals 
burst  from  the  boys.  But  everj^vhere  on  the  crest  of 
the  wave  of  sound  was  the  name — "Peter!  Peter 
Wister!"     Here  was  popularity.     Here  was  fame,  in- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  41 

toxicating — blazoned,  purer  in  all  probability  than  any 
that  might  come  to  him  hereafter,  free  of  all  envy, 
purged  of  the  bitterness  that  success  attracts  and  little- 
ness bestows. 

As  the  oars  dipped,  there  was  another  shout — a  **hoy" 
for  the  best  crew  "Wesley  had  put  on  the  water  for  three 
years  of  victory.  Then  someone  started  the  old  school 
song,  and  a  big  volume  of  sound  in  the  boyish  trebles  of 
the  prep,  school,  and  the  ridiculous  cracking  voices  of 
the  oldsters,  rolled  across  the  gray  water.  The  hurrying 
wayfarers  on  the  old  bridge  above  paused  awhile  and 
leaned  over  the  parapet  to  watch  the  young  crew  sweep 
in  splendid  unison  up  the  broad  reach. 

"We've  got  Grammar  in  a  bag,"  a  boy  chanted  in 
his  pride.  Pandemonium  broke  loose.  Derisive  counter- 
cheering  broke  like  a  scattering  storm  from  the  crowed 
round  the  Grammar  boat,  then  taking  the  water.  Dark 
blue  caps  were  waved  tauntingly  in  the  faces  of  Wesley 
boys. 

"We're  home  and  dried,"  crowed  another  infant, 
whose  mother's  milk  was  scarce  dry  on  his  lips.  The 
strained  nerves  of  the  boys  found  relief  in  loud  laughter, 
accompained  with  shrill  shouts  and  whistles. 

O'Dwyer,  the  English  form-master,  turned  to  his 
colleague.  His  name  is  forgotten  for  the  moment.  His 
business,  however,  was  "stinks,"  which  some  call  chem- 
istry. A  downright  person,  O'Dwyer.  His  nickname 
was  Mickey,  and  he  loved  it ;  as  his  parents  had  chris- 
tened him  Adolphus,  his  pleasure  was  natural.  The 
master  who  knows  not  a  nickname  knows  not  popularity 
either. 

"There's  trouble  a-plenty  a-brewing  for  to-morrow, 
O  my  friend,"  he  said,  in  the  slightly  strained  style 
which  much  reading  of  literature  induces.  "These 
younglings  are  ripe  for  it.  Hullo!  there  goes  Scotch 
into  the  water.  A  joke  lieth  concealed  there,  friend. 
The  water  generally  goes  into  the  Scotch." 

"Not  into  the  Scotch  I  know,"  quoth  the  unnamed 
person  who  dealt  in  * '  stinks. ' ' 


42  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"An  excellent  jest,  and  neatly  taken  up.  To  resume, 
they  look  a  likely  lot." 

A  rushing  river  of  cardinal,  the  caps  of  the  Scotch 
College  ran  in  a  flood  from  their  boathouse  to  the  river- 
bank,  and  soon  the  crew,  in  neat  white  sweaters,  bor- 
dered with  cardinal,  went  swinging  up  to  the  starting 
point. 

"Young  Wister'a  our  trump-card,"  continued  Mickey. 
"Wonder  all  this  adulation  doesn't  turn  their  heads. 
Can't  be  good  for  'em.  Why,  damn  it,  who  can  be  a 
ruddy  little  hero  at  sixteen,  and  not  suffer  for  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  good  moral  training,"  the  other  said, 
easily.  "It'll  take  a  lot  of  success  to  spoil  a  kid  that's 
been  in  a  crack  school  crew.  He's  had  the  world 
and  the  fulness  thereof  already — there  goes  Gram- 
mar! H'm!  splas'h  too  much.  And  I  ask  you — look 
at  Seven." 

Then  according  to  their  natures,  masters  chatting  on 
their  peculiar  problems — ^boys  offering  fabulous  odds 
which  they  could  never  pay — "I'll  bet  you  a  million 
we'll  win — a  million  to  a  gooseberry,  come  on" — the 
crowd  settled  down  to  watch  the  style  in  which  its  own 
particular  crew  would  finish.  Some  had  watches  out — 
fortunate  he  who  possessed  a  stopwatch;  his  popularity 
was  assured — while  others,  impatient  of  dull  waiting, 
streamed  along  the  towpath  on  foot  or  a-wheel  to  watch 
the  boats  at  the  turn. 

Presently  Oxton,  the  famous  Wesley  coach,  unbribable 
from  hio  ancient  allegiance,  came  riding  his  disreputable 
bicycle,  megaphone  strapped  round  his  head,  his  face 
turned  to  the  river,  confident  that  no  boy,  howsoever  ex- 
cited, would  dare  to  get  in  the  way  of  the  sacred  vehicle. 
A  stream  of  vituperation  issued  from  the  megaphone 
and  carried  slanders  clear  across  the  river. 

In  ominous  silence  the  Wesley  crowd  watched  their 
boat  come  in.  Grammar  boys  shouted  coarse  gibes. 
Something  was  wrong.  This  uneven,  splashing  crew 
was  never  the  one  that  went  off  in  such  dashing  style. 
Oxton,  megaphone  in  hand,  leaned  his  bicycle  against 
a  tree  and  hurled  schoolboys  out   of  his  path  as  he 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  43 

hurried  down  to  the  landing  to  which  the  crew  had 
drawn  in. 

"What  the  devil's  wrong  with  you,  Wister?"  he 
blazed.  "Bucketing-  like  an  old  woman,  you  were. 
Didn't  you  hear  me  yelling  to  get  your  hands  away? 
I'd  sooner  have  the  cox  in  your  seat,  if  that's  your  idea 
of  rowing.  Think  you're  taking  a  party  of  old  ladies 
for  a  river  picnic?" 

No  one  laughed  at  the  pleasantry.  Oxton's  face  did 
not  invite  the  tribute.    Peter's  was  ghastly. 

"Sorry  sir,  Dunno  what's  come  over  me.  I  feel  all 
in."  His  hand  pressed  his  side,  and  he  winced  even 
as  he  spoke. 

Curious,  jostling  boys  from  the  three  schools  pushed 
inquisitive  noses  forward,  burrowing  like  moles  for  pas- 
sage. The  word  went  round,  after  the  crew  disappeared 
to  their  dressing-room. 

' '  Wister 's  cracked  up.  The  great  Peter 's  bad.  Oxton 
won't  let  him  row  to-morrow." 

An  immense  excitement  took  possession  of  the  crowd. 
Of  all  mobs,  your  schoolboy  mob  is  the  quickest  to  feel 
and  spread  emotion.  Wesley  was  done.  Wesley  with- 
out Peter  was  absolutely  done.  That  was  the  burden, 
with  variations  on  the  same  theme.  Suddenly  the 
crowd,  which  in  complete  silence  had  watched  the  lift- 
ing and  housing  of  the  boat,  carried  between  their  silent 
ranks  like  a  corpse,  stampeded  and  broke.  Cardinal  and 
dark  blue  melted  from  this  purple  mob,  on  whom  the 
langer  of  the  gods  had  fallen.  Their  own  crews  were 
signalled.  One  infant  in  the  stricken  ranks  flung  a 
gibe  at  a  departing  Grammar  boy,  a  close  pal  in  private 
life. 

"Yah!"  he  yelled.  "I'll  bet  you're  glad  he's  out 
of  it." 

"Go  and  chase  yourself,"  retorted  the  other,  glanc- 
ing to  see  if  time  would  permit  of  the  luxury  of  a 
reply.  There  was  just  sufficient  to  point  a  dart.  "We 
could  give  you  the  lickin'  of  your  lives  with  Wister 
in  the  boat.  Without  him  our  stroke  would  take  your 
lot  on  in  a  leaky  dinghy,  an'  then  he'd  have  time  for 


44  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

lunch,  "We'll  be  back  at  school  dinner  by  the  time 
Wesley  gets  in  to-morrow."  With  his  five  fingerg  ele- 
gantly spread,  he  touched  his  nose  and  departed  for 
his  own  place. 

Oxton  left  Peter  to  dress,  without  worrying  him 
further.  The  rest  of  the  crew  were  quiet,  exchanging 
miserable  looks  with  one  another,  with  a  swift,  occa- 
sional glance  at  Peter,  fumbling  at  buttons,  with 
trembling  fingers. 

Into  the  changing  room  strode  the  Head,  compelling 
and  masterful. 

** What's  the  trouble,  Wister?"  he  asked,  his  voice 
booming  in  the  quiet  room.  "Buck  up  and  get  your 
clothes  on.     I've  got  a  cab  outside." 

**Dunno  what  happened,  sir,"  said  Peter.  ''I've  had 
a  bad  head  all  day.  Just  as  we  were  half-way  back  I 
felt  bad — got  a  terrible  pain  here" — he  placed  his  hand 
on  his  left  side — "lost  all  my  steam.  D'ye  think — 
does  Mr.  Oxton  think  he  can 't  trust  me  to  row  to-morrow, 
sir?"  Poor  Peter  hardly  dared  put  the  question,  so 
fearful  was  he  of  the  answer. 

"H'm!  We'll  see.  Eandall— Dr.  Randall,  of 
Queen's — is  dining  with  me.  I'll  get  him  to  run  the 
rule  over  you.  You've  probably  been  overdoing  it  in 
training.  Ready?  Right — here,  give  me  youv  arm. 
You  look  pretty  groggy.     Now  we're  right." 

Inspiring,  great-hearted,  understanding  John  Far- 
mer!  When  you  depart  hence,  will  there  be  in  those 
Elj^sian  Fields  where  haply  you  will  wander,  boys  with 
troubles,  with  perplexities,  with  dark  secrets  they  may 
tell  only  to  a  sympathetic  ear?  If  there  are  none,  then 
will  your  occupation  be  gone  indeed,  and,  despite  your 
claims  to  happiness,  misery  will  claim  you,  John  Harmer ; 
unless,  perchance  it  be  given  unto  you  to  stand  at  the 
shoulder  of  your  successor,  taking  a  silent  part  in  the 
governance  of  the  school  you  loved  and  created. 

"It's  the  race  I'm  thinking  of,  sir,"  said  Peter,  in 
response  to  an  inquiry  in  the  cab. 

* '  Never  mind  the  race.  There  '11  be  plenty  more  races, 
Peter.     We've  won  for  three  years  running.     Just  as 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  45 

well  to  let  the  other  fellow  have  a  look-in — makes  better 
sport  in  the  long  run.  Now  don't  jabber.  We'll  soon 
be  home." 

Randall's  verdict  was  soon  given. 

''Slight  strain.  Out  of  the  question  to  row  to-morrow. 
Taking  a  big  risk  of  making  a  small  trouble  a  bigger 
one."  Eandall,  medical  tutor  at  Queen's,  giving  up  to 
badly  paid  University  teaching  talents  with  which  he 
might  have  made  a  fortune,  commanded  respect  when  he 
diagnosed. 

"Oxton  will  waylay  and  kill  you  for  that  decision," 
Harmer  told  him.  He  thought  it  was  exceedingly  bad 
for  boys  to  have  unbroken  victory,  and,  though  his  pride 
as  Head  would  be  gratified  by  a  win,  his  philosophy 
would  be  equal  to  the  strain  of  defeat. 

"It's  the  death-warrant  of  Oxton's  hopes.  Crack 
strokes  are  not  the  creation  of  a  day,  you  know." 

** Crook  hearts  may  be,"  quoth  the  doctor.  *'I'm  not 
sure  that  tremendous  strains  like  these,  coming  on  top 
of  hard  training,  are  not  bad  for  schoolboys." 

"Go  to,  you  old  timorsome  female,"  retorted  the 
Head,  "go  to.  And  in  the  strongest  men  of  this  gen- 
eration find  the  doughty  crews  of  our  public  schools  of 
yesterday. ' ' 

"H'm!  H'm!"  doubted  the  doctor.  "That's  a 
generalization  sir,  and  as  a  scientist  I  hate  a  generali- 
zation as  I  do  a  lie,  and  for  the  same  reason.  Any- 
way, Wister  must  stay  out  of  the  game  for  a  while." 

"It'll  break  his  heart,  Randall — oh,  spare  me  the 
banality  that  trembles  on  your  lips,  my  dear  man.  I 
want  you  to  interest  yourself  in  this  boy.  Peter  is 
going  to  be  rather  a  big  sort  of  chap.  He's  going  up 
to  Queen's  next  year.  Keep  an  eye  on  him.  The  Master 
will,  I  know,  and  with  you  and  the  Master  I've  no  fears 
for  the  lad." 

"What's  his  line?"  Randall  asked. 

"He  has  none.  He's  not  brilliant;  in  fact,  he's 
one  of  the  slowest  chaps  in  my  Post  Matric.^  form,  but 
he  always  gets  there,  generally  with  a  nose  in  front  of 
the  rest,  too.     No  dazzle— but  grit,  pure  grit." 


46  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Peter  took  his  exclusion  hardly,  but  with  his  accus- 
tomed silence.  With  the  dawn  he  was  up  to  see  what 
sort  of  a  day  it  was  going  to  be.  The  wind  makes  a 
big  difference  to  a  boat,  according  to  the  station  it  draws. 
The  sharp  frost  promised  a  fine  autumn  day.  At  the 
usual  time  he  answered  the  dressing  gong.  He  felt  much 
as  usual,  but  then,  so  he  had  before  his  disgraceful  ex- 
hibition the  previous  day.  A  few  minutes  at  the  punch- 
ing ball  and  a  cold  bath  toned  him  up.  Idiotic  business 
in  was,  forbidding  him  to  row ! 

"What  absolutely  rotten  luck,  Peter!"  One  of 
his  form-mates  approached  him.  "We're  goosed. 
That  swine  Mason's  broken  training  time  after  time." 

"What!"  Peter  was  amazed.  In  the  high  code  of 
schoolboy  honor  to  break  training  was  the  ultimate 
disloyalty. 

"Fact.  He  was  sick  at  not  being  put  in  the  boat 
instead  of  Anson.  That  fellow  Jacobs  is  a  chum  of 
Mason,  and  I  heard  him  sniggering  with  some  of  his 
choice  friends  over  the  way  Mason  had  done  Oxton  in 
the  eye.     He  thought  it  was  a  huge  joke." 

"What  a  rotter!  But  p'raps  that  was  some  time 
ago,  Clough.  It  mightn't  make  such  a  difference  to  the 
race.  He's  been  down  to  the  river  and  out  in  the  boat 
a  lot  lately." 

"He's  never  had  a  really  hard  try-out,"  argued 
Clough,  "and  only  last  week  he  was  smoking  ciga- 
rettes and  eating  muck  in  the  city.  Jacobs  can  tell  you 
that.  He'll  never  last  the  distance,"  the  boy  finished, 
disgustedly.  "Oh,  Peter,  why  the  devil  didn't  you 
crack  to-morrow,  if  you  had  to  do  it?" 

Peter  was  thinking. 

"Look  here,  Harry,"  he  said  at  last,  "I'm  feeling 
fit  as  a  fiddle  to-day.  Dr.  Randall  says  my  heart  is 
a  bit  strained,  but  it's  long  odds  it  will  last  out  this 
race.  I  didn't  crack  up  before  yesterday;  I  was  prob- 
ably a  bit  off  color,  anyway.  See  what  I  mean  ?  Any- 
way, even  if  I'm  a  little  bit  gee-wobbly,  I'll  do  better 
than  that  beast  Mason.  Harry,  I'm  going  to  get  back 
into  that  boat." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  47 

Clough  looked  at  him,  without  any  words  to  express 
his  feelings. 

''But — but,  how  can  you?"  he  asked  at  length. 
**Gid.  would  spot  you  at  once  and  haul  you  out.  He 
doesn't  agree  that  winning  a  race  is  as  important  as 
keeping  your  health.  *'Gid.,"  a  short  form  of  Gideon, 
the  Head's  hated  middle  name,  was  naturally  the  one 
these  young  barbarians  elected  to  call  him. 

**AYell,  it's  lucky  we  know  it's  far  more  important," 
said  Peter,  **and  I'm  jolly  well  going  to  do  it." 

"But  it's  impossible,"  argued  Clough.  ** Mason's 
name  is  down  for  the  crew.  How '11  you  get  into  the 
boat  without  Oxton  spotting  you  and  rooting  you  out? 
He'll  never  go  against  Gid.'s  orders.  Then  there's 
Mason  himself.  He's  wild  with  delight  at  getting  into 
the  boat.     It's  no  go,  Peter," 

**0h,  rot.  Everything's  a  go  if  you  jolly  well  make 
up  your  mind  to  it.  Harry,  do  you  want  to  see  me  in 
that  crew?" 

** Sooner  than  anything  in  the  world,  Peter.    We'll 

be  licked  for  certain  if  you're  not.     But  you'll " 

Clough  was  beginning  further  argument,  but  Pete>* 
interrupted. 

*'Then  you'll  have  to  help  me.  First  of  all  nip  on 
your  good  old  bike  after  brekker  and  get  my  rowing 
togs  from  my  locker  in  the  shed." 

**But  how ?"     Clough  could  not  see  the  drift 

of  Peter's  mind. 

"Go  on,  and  don't  argue.  There's  the  bell.  I'd  go 
myself,  but  I  might  be  spotted.  I'll  tell  you  the  rest 
afterwards." 

"Righto,"  Clough  agreed.  "Ill  sneak  'em  up  to 
your  room." 

"No,  bring  'em  into  the  'gjTn,'  "  directed  Peter. 
"And  not  a  single  word  to  a  soul,"  he  warned,  "not 
even  to  my  very  best  pals. " 

The  school  was  weighed  down  by  disappointment. 
Mason,  the  first  emergency  man,  was  one  of  those  over- 
bearing, coarse-minded  young  blackguards  which  every 
school    possesses    to    keep    it    humble — ^boys    who    are 


48  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

cordially  detested  by  all  except  fellows  of  their  own 
kidney.  His  inclusion  in  the  crew  was  an  unpopular 
move,  though  on  occasion  he  pulled  a  good  oar.  Oxton, 
M'ith  the  wisdom  of  long  experience,  knew  that  where 
dissension  existed  in  a  team  efficiency  suffered.  Mason 
had  once  been  a  member  of  the  crew,  but  the  happy 
family  had  been  so  set  by  the  ears  that  the  coach  pre- 
ferred to  put  in  his  place  a  boy  who  was  not  so  good  an 
oarsman,  but  an  infinitely  better  team-worker. 

After  morning-school,  which  was  dismissed  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual,  Peter  determined  to  open  his  game. 
He  knew  the  boy  he  had  to  deal  with.  Mason  was  talking 
with  two  cronies. 

"I  want  a  word  with  you,  Mason,"  Peter  said, 
curtly. 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  other  boy  asked,  none  too 
civilly. 

''About  the  race — I  want  to  give  you  a  few 
pointers." 

Mason  ungraciously  joined  him,  and  Peter  led  the 
way  over  the  deserted  cricket-field,  far  enough  away 
for  neither  voice  nor  expression  to  distinguish  them  to 
curious  eyes.  Peter  opened  the  engagement  by  firing 
a  shot  over  the  enemy's  bows.  It  brought  him  up  all 
standing. 

*'I  can  get  you  expelled,"  he  said.  Hia  tones  were 
full  of  the  contempt  a  schoolboy  dreads  in  his  fellows. 

''What  for?"  demanded  Mason,  truculently,  but  with 
an  uneasy  look  in  his  eyes.  He  was  visibly  shaken  by 
the  sudden  attack. 

"Too  numerous  to  mention,"  Peter  assured  him, 
"but  breaking  bounds  to  smoke  and  drink  in  the  city 
are  two  of  the  things.  Besides,  breaking  training  is 
punished  by  expulsion  from  all  sports,"  he  reminded 
him. 

"Prove  it,"  retorted  Mason,  defiantly. 

"Jacobs  will  prove  it,"  Peter  replied  swiftly.  "You 
know  there's  many  a  score  up  against  you,  Mason," 
he  pursued  his  advantage.  "Gid.  would  be  only  too 
glad  to  get  something  definite  to  go  on.     'There  are 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  49 

certain  fellows  of  the  baser  sort  who  are  a  scandal  and  a 
menance  in  our  midst,'  "  he  quoted  glibly,  with  the 
ponderous  voice  of  Harmer.  "That  means  you.  He 
would  like  to  run  you  out,  wouldn  't  he  ? " 

*'0h,  you  go  to " 

*' Wouldn't  he?"  Peter  eut  across  the  profanitj'. 

"Well,  s'pose  he  would.  He's  got  to  have  something 
to  go  on,  hasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  and  I  could  jolly  well  give  him  the  something, 
too.  Now,  listen.  I  don't  want  you  to  row  this 
afternoon." 

"You — ^what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you?  I've 
got  to  row.     Do  you  want  me  to  throw  away  the  race?" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  advised  Peter.  "You  haven't  got 
to  row." 

"Who'll  take  my  place,  if  I  back  out?  We  wouldn't 
have  an  earthly  with  j^oung  Barnett  in  my  seat.  Have 
a  bit  of  *  common. '     You  must  be  pott3^ ' ' 

"Barnett  won't  be  in  your  seat,  Mason,"  Peter  told 
him. 

"He's  next  emergency.    Who  will,  then?" 

"I  will." 

"You — you're  done.  Gid.  wouldn't  let  you  row  with 
a  crook  heart.  Remember  the  letters  to  the  papers 
when  a  Grammar  chap  fainted  at  the  finish  last  year? 
What's  all  this  rot  about,  Peter?  You  and  I  have 
always  got  on  well  enough." 

"Look  here.  Mason,  I'm  all  right.  I  know  Gid. 
would  put  my  pot  on  if  he  actually  saw  me  in  the 
boat.  But  he  won't,  till  it's  too  late.  Same  with 
Oxton.    See?" 

"No,  I  blooming  well  don't  'see'." 

"You're  a  dense  ass,  then,  I'll  get  permission  to 
go  up  in  the  umpire's  boat  for  the  start.  You've  got 
to  rick  your  leg,  or  your  arm,  or  something  on  the 
way  up.  It'll  be  easy  for  you  to  fake  it.  Screw  up 
your  face  and  wince  every  time  you  pull,  and  leave  me 
to  do  the  rest." 

"Well,  I'm  damned — give  up  my  place  in  the  crew 


50  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

to  you?  It'd  be  like  selling  the  race.  I'd  be  jolly  well 
expelled  if  they  found  out." 

"Don't  let  them  find  out,  then,"  advised  Peter,  "  'eos 
you're  bally  well  going  to  do  it." 

"Do  you  think  you'd  last  the  distance  at  thirty-six 
even?"  gibed  Mason. 

"Better  than  you,"  retorted  Peter.  "You've  got  a 
fat  chance  of  coming  through  on  cigarettes  and  ginger 
ale.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  get  into  that  boat  if  I 
have  to  pitch  into  you  at  the  sheds  and  muss  you  up 
that  way.  If  you  don't  agree,  I'll  get  you  expelled, 
like  the  swine  you  are." 

"Look  here,  Wister,  this  is  rotten  of  you.  I'm  not 
sure  if  I  went  to  Gid,  and  told  him  this  I  couldn't 
have  you  shot  out.  I  forget  what  they  call  it,  but  it's 
something  that  the  police  can  punish  you  for,"  Mason 
spluttered,  white  and  angry. 

"It's  blackmail,"  confessed  Peter,  sweetly.  "You 
see  a  sweep  like  you  shouldn't  be  in  a  crew  at  all.  You 
wouldn't  be  in  if  I  told  Oxton  you'd  broken  training. 
Still,  that  wouldn't  get  me  your  place.  He'd  only  put 
Barnett  in,  and  Barnett's  not  good  enough.  Now,  are 
you  going  to  do  it?" 

"It's  not  a  fair  thing  to  ask,  Peter." 

"Righto.  I'm  off  to  Oxton,  and  then  to  the  Head. 
I'll  take  young  Jacobs  with  me.  That's  a  promise, 
Mason."  His  face  was  dark  with  determination.  His 
fellows  knew  that  look.  On  the  football  field  and  on 
the  river  it  had  become  famous.  Mason  suddenly 
crumpled  up. 

"It's  an  infernal  sneaky  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  "but 
I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  do  it.  But  j^ou  see  if  I  don't  get 
even  with  you." 

"  'And  the  villian  still  pursued  him,'  "  laughed 
Peter.  "That'll  be  quite  all  right.  Mason.  And,  re- 
member, you'll  have  to  get  a  bad  strain.  It's  got  to 
be  bad  enough  to  get  me  your  place,  or  else  your 
number's  up." 

"But,  hang  it  all,  I  can't  do  more  than  fake  a  pain. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  51 

I  can't  make  Oxton  give  you  a  place.  Will  it  be  my 
fault  if  he  insists  on  me  rowing  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know,  Mason,  whether  it'll  be  your  fault,  but 
it  will  be  your  misfortune.  You  mightn't  pretend  hard 
enough,  you  see,"  grinned  Peter,  in  high  good-humor. 

Mason's  ideas  of  treachery  began  to  be  hurriedly  re- 
vised. He  felt  that  discretion  was  called  for.  Peter 
had  a  habit  of  meaning  what  he  said. 

''That  all  you  want?"  Mason  asked,  sulkily. 

*'For  the  present,"  Peter  smiled,  and  went  off  to 
find  Clough. 

So  far,  so  good.  The  next  thing  was  to  arrange 
definitely  for  the  descent  of  the  god  from  the  machine. 
In  the  *'gjTn"  Oxton  was  giving  a  few  last  words  of 
advice.  Peter  listened  with  the  rest.  When  it  was  over, 
Oxton  came  across. 

*'I  say,  sir,"  began  Peter,  *' could  you  get  me  a  seat 
on  the  umpire's  launch?  Pretty  hard  lines  I  can't  row, 
but  it'll  be  rotten  if  I  can't  see  every  inch  of  the  race." 

''That'll  be  all  right,  son,"  Oxton  promised.  "I'd 
give  a  good  deal  to  see  you  rowing.  We're  up  against 
a  tough  proposition  in  Scotch.  Grammar  I  don't  much 
fear  this  year;  they're  too  cocky  for  winners." 

"I'm  really  feeling  quite  fit,  sir,"  urged  Peter,  pre- 
paring the  way.  "I  believe  I  must  have  eaten  some- 
thing bad  yesterday.  I  feel  great  to-day."  Charlie 
Oxton  shook  his  head. 

"It's  only  a  race,  boy.  After  a  rest-up  you'll  row 
plenty  more.  I  coach  the  Queen 's  crew,  remember,  and 
I'll  have  you  in  that,  never  fear.  Don't  grizzle  about 
to-day.     We'll  do  our  best  with  Mason." 

Peter  winked  at  Clough. 

"I've  done  my  worst  with  him,"  he  grinned. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"Then  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy, 
Whereby  it  shall  appear, 
now  in  all  time  of  our  distress, 

And   our   deliverance    too, 
The  game  is  more  than  the  player  of  the  game, 
And  the  ship  is  Tnore  than  the  crew." 

— A  Song  in  Stoem 

ON  the  river,  that  afternoon,  excitement  ran  through 
the  crowd,  like  a  bush-fire.  The  papers  had  can- 
vassed the  possibilities;  Peter's  mishap  had  been 
noted,  the  oracles  declaring  against  "Wesley's  chances 
under  the  altered  conditions. 

A  slight  mist  draped  the  river  bank.  Heavy,  dark 
clouds  had  gathered,  and  a  few  drops  of  rain  had  fallen. 
The  low  westering  sun  struggled  to  get  through  the 
thick  cloud-bank. 

Peter,  his  rowing  togs  on  under  his  suit,  waited  on  the 
river-bank  till  the  umpire's  launch  should  nose  in  to 
take  him  and  a  few  guests  aboard.  A  sullen  nod  from 
Mason  had  been  sufficient  assurance  to  him  that  plans 
still  held.  The  unemotional  Peter  felt  an  unaccustomed 
surge  of  excitement  as  he  looked  at  the  gathering  crowds 
and  noted  the  mingling  blue,  purple  and  cardinal  of  the 
tense  infantry  to  whom  this  was  the  red-letter-day  of  the 
school  year.      ** 

A  knot  of  older  Grammar  boys,  with  gold  prefects' 
badges,  stood  near  the  landing-stage.  Something  in  the 
uplifted  chin  of  one  of  them  struck  sharply  a  chord 
of  memory  in  Peter's  mind.     If  Philip  Lee  were  not  at 

Eton The  boy  turned,  as  though  in  answer  to  a 

summons  from  Peter,  who  saw  that  it  was  Philip.     In 
two  strides  he  had  crossed  the  ground  to  him. 

62 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  53 

"Phil!"  he  called.  Philip  turned  round  again  in 
some  surprise.  A  blank  look  greeted  Peter,  changing 
to  a  look  of  swift  recognition,  of  extreme  pleasure. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  Peter  Wister!"  he  exclaimed.  "Of 
course  I  knew  you  would  be  here,  but  I  wa??n't  think- 
ing of  it  just  then.  What  putrid  luck  you  hurt  your- 
self !     They  say  it 's  left  your  chaps  without  a  chance. ' ' 

A  voice  of  cultured  timbre!  A  self-possession  infi- 
nitely sure !  A  manner  that  accompanied  a  smile  which 
was  almost  a  decoration  to  Peter.  With  a  rush  all  the 
old  homage  came  back.  He  was  not  the  popular  hero  of 
Wesley ;  he  wag  once  more  a  shabby  urchin  bestriding  a 
worn  old  hack,  with  two  children  behind  him.  Philip 
maintained  through  his  life  the  power  of  creating  the 
illusion  that  for  him  only  his  companion  of  the  moment 
existed.  An  exquisite  tact,  bland  and  warm,  informed 
all  his  actions,  except  where  his  own  vital  comfort  was  in 
question. 

Peter's  face  wore  a  look  of  inordinate  pleasure. 

"You  old  rotter,  never  to  have  written  me  or  let  know 
you  were  here,"  he  cried,  wringing  Philip's  hand  enthu- 
siastically.   *  *  When  did  you  leave  Eton  ? ' ' 

"You  knew  the  pater  had  died,  I  suppose?"  Philip 
asked,  his  face  sobering. 

"Of  course.  Didn't  I  write  to  you?  My  mother 
told  me  all  about  it.     I'm  awfully  sorry,  Phil." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Philip  answered,  with  that  em- 
barrassment under  condolence  the  Englishman  always 
feels.  "Hard  lines,  of  course.  He  didn't  come  too  well 
out  of  things — speculations,  you  know.  The  mater's 
living  down  here.  Of  course  I  left  Eton  at  once.  I've 
been  here  only  a  week  or  so;  didn't  want  to  come  back 
to  school,  but  she  insisted  on  a  last  year.  There's  not 
too  much  cash,  you  know,  Peter." 

"Oh,  you'll  make  plenty,  Phil.  But  why  not  our 
shop  ?     It 's  easily  the  best  of  the  lot, ' '  Peter  asked. 

"Oh,  well,  I'd  like  to  have  made  it  Wesley,  just 
because  you're  were  there,  but  the  mater  knew  some  of 
the  people  whose  kids  went  to  Grammar.  It's — well — 
no  otfense,  Peter,  old  chap;  but  Wesley's — not  quite — 


64.  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

you  know  what  I  mean — a  bit  rough,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  don't  you  know?" 

Phil's  whimsical,  apologetic  smile,  deprecating  any 
offeruse,  effectually  robbed  his  words  of  sting.  Peter 
laughed  aloud. 

* '  'Course  I  know.  We  have  a  few  rough  chaps — ^like 
me,  for  example;  but " 

"My  dear  old  man,  you  know  I  didn't  mean  that. 
You're  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  my  own 
particular  pal.  What  a  snobbish  rotter  you  must  think 
me,"  Philip  broke  in,  warmly. 

**I'm  not  offended,"  said  Peter,  with  a  comfortable 
sense  of  admiration  for  the  generous  nature  of  the  other 
boy.  ''We  have  a  whale  of  a  time,  and  Gid.  Harmer's 
the  whitest  sport  you  could  meet.  Wesley '11  do  me. 
But  what's  the  good  of  gassing  about  our  schools? 
There's  heaps  I  want  to  ask  you." 

**Me  too.  But  it'll  wait.  You're  going  to  get  it  in 
the  neck  to-day,  the  knowing  ones  tell  me.  Don't  expect 
me  to  yell  for  Wesley  just  because  my  pal  used  to  belong 
to  their  rotten  crew,"  smiled  Phil.  "You're  a  regular 
hero,  apparently.  Never  bothered  much  about  rowing 
myself.     Cricket's  my  game." 

Subtly  his  voice  conveyed  a  faint  disparagement  of 
all  games  except  cricket. 

*  *  Cricket 's  all  right, ' '  Peter  agreed.  * '  How  ripping  if 
I'm  playing  against  you,  Phil,  when  the  season  comes 
round — oh,  I  forgot.  I  won't  be  here.  I'm  going  to 
the  University  next  year.  By  Jingo !  how  I  '11  hate  leav- 
ing the  old  school." 

"The  University!  Good  Heavens!  I  forgot  they 
had  one,"  Phil  laughed.  "What  a  rum  little  place  it 
must  be.     How  many  students  have  they  ?     Fifty  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  you're  very  superior,"  Peter  smiled  back. 
"We're  not  Oxford,  but  we're  not  too  bad,  for  all  that, 
and  we'll  give  any  of  your  old  English  Universities  a 
go  any  time  they  like.  One  thing's  certain,  I'm  dashed 
lucky  to  be  able  to  get  there.  Dad  isn't  doing  too  badly, 
but  it  wouldn't  run  to  the  'Varsity.  I  was  lucky  to 
grab  an  entrance  schol.  to  Queen's." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  55 

"Good  for  you,  Peter,  You're  a  trier.  And  what's 
*  Queens?'    I'm  not  up  in  local  knowledge." 

''You  ass;  it's  a  University  College.  Trinity  and 
Ormond  are  the  others.  It's  all  kinds  of  pie  to  be  in 
one.  Most  of  our  chaps  go  to  Queen's.  Your  little 
superior  lot  go  to  Trinity— Scotch  to  Ormond.  'Scuse 
me,  Phil,  I've  got  to  go.  There's  the  umpire's  boat,  and 
I'm  going  in  it  to  see  the  start.    See  you  again." 

"Rather,  young  "Wister — ^sorry  we've  got  to  lick  the 
stuffing  out  of  you  to-day." 

With  a  backward  laugh,  Peter  hopped  on  the  launch, 
which  went  chug-chugging  a  hundred  yards  up  the 
river,  and  then  drifted  near  the  bank.  Soon  the  crews 
came  out — Grammar  first,  pretty,  clean-limbed,  and 
lightly-built.  Wesley  followed,  their  purple  sweaters 
making  a  bold  splash  of  color  on  the  dull  water.  Then 
came  the  Scotch  eight,  in  brave  cardinal. 

* '  Give  your  eyes  to  be  in  that  boat,  eh,  Wister  1 ' '  one 
of  the  men  said — he  wore  the  medal  of  the  Old  Wesley 
Collegians.    Peter  warmed  to  him. 

"You  bet,"  he  said,  fervently. 

The  fussy  little  launch  soon  began  to  chum  up  the 
river,  and  bustled  importantly  forward  towards  the 
starting-point. 

"What's  up  with  Wesley?"  a  lady  asked,  as  the 
launch  rounded  the  bend  and  came  in  sight  of  the  three 
crews. 

* '  More  trouble  ? ' '  muttered  Peter 's  new  friend.  * '  The 
devil's  in  it,  I  think." 

The  Wesley  boat  had  pulled  alongside  a  launch  from 
which  Charlie  Oxton  was  speaking.  Mason's  face  was  a 
mask  of  pain.    He  held  his  arm  tenderly. 

"Massage  it  for  him,  Anson."  Oxton  called,  impa- 
tiently.   "Good  Lord,  what  a  silly  fool!" 

"I  can't  stand  it,  sir.  It  hurts  too  much.  I  can't 
move  it  without  it  hurting.  I've  strained  a  ligament, 
I  think,"  Mason  called  out,  making  grimace  do  duty  for 
want  of  pallor. 

"Nothing  for  it  but  to  take  the  boat  out  of  the  race," 
the  coach  said.    "We'll  be  too  late  to  get  Bamett  now. 


56  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

I  told  him  he  needn't  wait  in  the  shed.  Who  could  have 
foreseen  this?  And  only  three  minutes  from  the  start. 
By  Cassar!  I'd  ship  a  monkey  rather  than  turn  it  up 
]ike  this.  That  <;rowd'll  say  we  funked  it  without  Peter 
AVister." 

Urquhart,  the  umpire,  called  out : 

** Stations,  please!     What's  wrong  there,  Oxton?" 

"Mason's  strained  a  ligament,  Mr.  Urquhart.  Afraid 
we'll  have  to  stand  out." 

**  'Fraid  there's  nothing  for  it,  Oxton.  Bad  luck,  sir. 
Awf'ly  sorry.  No  other  man  handy,  I  suppose?  I 
could  give  you  a  few  minutes'  grace." 

"No  good,  sir,"  called  Oxton.  "There's  only  Bar- 
nett,  and  he'd  have  to  be  found  in  that  crowd,  and  then 
get  into  his  togs." 

"Too  bad !    Well,  if  you  're  sure— hullo,  what 's  this  ?  * ' 

Peter,  who  had  shed  his  clothes  like  lightning  in  the 
very  face  of  scandalized  guests,  stood  beside  Urquhart  in 
his  rowing  togs. 

"I'm  feeling  right  as  rain,  sir,  and  we  must  make 
a  showing  somehow.     We  can't  pull  out  altogether." 

"But  they  told  me  you  had  strained  your  heart, 
man ,"  began  Urquhart,  with  a  Scotchman's  slow- 
ness in  the  uptake.     Peter  was  in  an  agony. 

"I'm  quite  all  right,"  he  insisted,  almost  dancing. 
"Please  tell  Mr.  Oxton  I'll  row."  The  Wesley  boat  was 
already  under  sad  way  down  stream,  and  so  had  come 
nearer  the  launch.  Oxton  had  been  looking  across  the 
space  of  water  at  the  white  figure  in  the  umpire's  boat, 
unwilling  to  believe  his  eyes. 

"Is  that  Wister?"  he  called  out,  incredulously. 

"Yes,  that's  all  right,  Mr.  Oxton,"  Peter  answered 
for  himself.  **I'm  coming  over."  The  man  at  the  tiller 
had  gently  nosed  the  launch  in  until  it  was  touching  the 
Wesley  boat  lightly,  the  port  oars  shipped,  as  the  rowers 
^aw  the  manoeuvre. 

"Climb  up, Mason,"  commanded  Oxton.  "Lend  him 
a  hand,  Peter.  Careful!  it's  the  right  arm.  That's  the 
ticket!  Now  then,  Wister,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  let 
you  risk  it," 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  5T 

"You've  got  to,  sir;  you  must.  I'm  as  well  as  ever 
I  was.  Don't  let  them  say  we  funked  it."  It  was 
dexterous  pleading,  for  Oxton  had  the  true  sportsman's 
feeling  that  to  stay  in  the  game  was  worth  a  physical 
risk.    For  himself  he  would  have  taken  it  unhesitatingly. 

"Change  over  Markby,"  muttered  Peter,  at  the  gun- 
wale, to  the  boy  who  was  in  stroke's  seat.  The  accom- 
panying frown  and  wink  were  enough  for  Markby. 
Steadying  the  frail  boat  by  gripping  the  gunwale 
of  the  launch,  he  made  the  exchange,  appearing  not  to 
hear  the  undecided,  "Wait  a  while,  Markby,"  with  which 
the  driven  Oxton  sought  to  gain  time  to  think.  Peter 
instantly  lowered  himself  gingerly  into  Markby's  seat, 
and  inserted  his  feet  into  the  straps. 

"Time's  up,"  barked  Urquhart,  who  had  a  reputation 
for  punctuality  to  maintain.  Oxton  had  perforce  to 
obey  the  tempting  little  demon  that  whispered  the  com- 
forting assurance  that  the  decision  had  been  taken  out 
of  his  hands. 

The  other  crews  had  watched  the  manoeuvres  of  the 
"Wesley  crew  with  speculation  as  to  what  they  portended. 
They  drifted  a  few  yards  nearer,  and  their  wonder 
changed  to  a  spirited  pleasure  as  they  realized  what  had 
happened.  The  Grammar  stroke,  with  an  inspiration 
that  did  him  credit,  turned  round  to  his  crew,  and,  with 
an  inviting  side-glance  at  Scotch,  called  out: 

"Three  cheers  for  Wister,  boys.  He's  going  to  risk 
it." 

A  mile  down  the  river  they  wondered  what  the  sudden 
burst  of  cheering  meant. 

To  a  good  start  the  three  crews  got  away.  Peter 
had  never  felt  in  better  fettle.  Overhead  it  was  gloomy ; 
rain  was  not  far  off.  At  a  rattling  pace  for  schoolboy 
oars,  a  quick  41,  the  Grammar  ."stroke  got  his  boat  off. 
At  a  slightly  diminished  tempo  Scotch  followed.  Peter, 
distrusting  himself  somewhat,  was  inclined  to  nurse  his 
crew.  He  did  so  till  two  yawning  lengths  separated  him 
from  Scotch,  while  Grammar  was  at  least  half  a  length 
in  front  again. 

Peter's  heart  sang.     He  was  stroking  his  boat  again, 


58  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

if  it  was  for  the  last  time.  Even  defeat  mattered  little. 
The  success  of  his  stratagem  exhilarated  him.  Time 
enough  to  worry  over  its  ethics  after  the  race.  He  was 
back  again,  back  again.  The  words  sang  themselves  to 
the  rhythm  of  the  oars.  He  increased  the  time,  feeling, 
as  only  an  oarsman  can,  the  reserve  behind  his  crew. 

The  leaders  had  expended  some  of  their  steam.  Gram- 
mar was  thrashing  a  bit,  but  Scotch  kept  a  beautiful, 
even  stroke  in  smooth  water. 

Here  was  the  bend  coming.  Now  the  pace  ought  to 
mend.  Peter  knew  he  could  afford  a  rattling  crew  like 
Scocth  no  more  than  they  had  al^ead3^  Simultaneously 
with  the  decision  to  speed  came  the  fear  that  it  was  not 
in  him.  Or  did  the  tiny  stab  of  pain  come  first?  He 
never  knew,  but  the  cox  saw  his  face  whiten  and  his 
lips  tense  themselves  suddenly.  Into  Peter's  eyes  came 
for  one  brief  moment  the  light  of  defeat.  Little  Edwards 
almost  sobbed  into  his  megaphone. 

"He's  cracking  up  again,"  he  thought,  with  a  shiver. 
Who  can  measure  the  tremendous  significance  of  victory 
to  these  little  men?  It  was  like  death  to  this  twelve- 
year-old  to  finish  without  a  gallant  effort. 

Peter's  stroke  grew  uneven.  He  was  losing  his  grip. 
Edwards  yelled  sharply,  counting  in  frenzied  rhj^hm, 
until  Peter  steadied,  rallied  by  the  little  chap's  voice. 
Once  more  the  oars  fell  in  unison. 

Then  Peter  by  sheer  will-power  drove  from  his  mind 
that  bitter  conviction  of  defeat.  He  would  win!  He 
would  win!  Damn  the  pain!  Damn  the  pain!  The 
oars  beat  out  this  monody  now.  He  could  master  the 
pain !  How  eaay  it  would  be  to  sink  to  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  and  go  to  sleep.  How  delightful !  How  splen- 
did !  No  longer  to  have  to  thrash  the  water  with  those 
hideously  long,  horribly  heavy  oars !  The  water  was  an 
enemy.  You  had  to  hit  and  hit,  or  it  would  be  too  much 
for  you.  His  brain  whirled  wildly.  They  had  rounded 
the  bend.  A  swift  look  showed  him  that  the  relative 
positions  were  unchanged.  He  was  amazed.  He  had 
been  rowing  an  hour.  His  glance  showed  him  something 
else,  too.     A  huge  gonfalon  whereon  the  Wesley  purple 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  59 

and  gold  shone  emblazoned  waved  in  front,  beckoning 
him  on. 

It  was  the  sun,  which  had  at  last  broken  from  its  prison- 
house  of  purple  cloud,  and  shot  golden  beams  in  splendid 
lateral  glory  across  the  horizon.  Peter  mastered  the 
pain ;  mastered,  too,  the  yeasty  thoughts  that  surged  in 
his  brain,  urging  him  to  rest  now,  and  take  up  the  task 
when  he  felt  better;  to  cease  whipping  the  inexorable, 
never-ending  water. 

With  suddenly  cleared  mind,  he  saw  the  job  in  hand 
to  be  done.  Striking  thirty-eight,  he  increased  his  speed, 
and  the  little  cox  laughed  aloud,  in  his  relief. 

** "We've  got  'em,  Peter;  we've  got  'em,"  he  exulted, 
for  the  strip  of  water  narrowed  between  Wesley  and  the 
two  leaders,  that  were  now  fighting,  canvas  level,  believ- 
ing that  their  third  opponent  was  out  of  the  race. 

Inch  by  inch  the  purple  sweaters  crept  up.  Their  can- 
vas was  level  with  the  rudder  of  Grammar.  It  passed  it. 
Grammar,  splashing  badly,  was  done.  Scotch  was  in 
better  case,  but  tried  with  the  too  early  spurt.  Not  a 
sign  of  pain  felt  Peter  now ;  only  a  huge,  exultant  hap- 
piness that  filled  him,  balloon-wise.  They  came  into  the 
level  reach  that  led  to  the  winning-post,  the  three  boats 
abreast,  fighting  for  passage.  Then  Wesley  got  its  nose 
in  front. 

A  roar  from  the  crowd,  continuous  and  deafening.  A 
sudden  diminuendo  and  a  babel  of  incredulous  exclama- 
tions and  questions  from  the  cognoscenti ;  then,  as  Peter 
was  recognized  beyond  peradventure,  a  crashing  cres- 
cendo of  noise  that  must  have  outdone  the  wondrous 
shout  of  the  ten  thousand  that  brought  the  walls  of 
Jericho  toppling  in  level  ruin. 

"Peter!  Peter!  Peter  Wister.  It's  P-e-e-ter!" 
wailed  his  school-fellows  hysterically,  and  beat  each 
other  cruelly  on  shoulders  and  head. 

*' Wesley \  Wesley!  Wesley!"  came  in  great  gusts 
of  sounds,  sonorous  as  a  bell,  making  ineffectual  as  whis- 
pers the  counter-shouts  of,  ''Grammar!  Come  away, 
Grammar !    Scotch !    Scotch ! ' ' 

"Half  a  canvas,"  was  the  official  verdict.    Peter  did 


6a  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

not  hear  it.  The  will  to  achieve  had  sufficed  only  for 
the  achievement.  He  slumped  forward  over  his  oar,  and 
quietly  yielded  to  that  lassitude  he  had  earlier  fought 
so  valiantly. 

He  was  soon  right.  But  his  rowing  days  were  over. 
Never  again  would  he  know  the  sickening  sense  of  failure 
or  the  exhilarating  breath  of  victory,  as  his  boat  speeded 
down  between  two  black  lanes  of  clieering  people.  That 
was  the  sacrifice  he  made  that  his  beloved  school  should 
not  know  the  pangs  of  disgraceful  defeat.  Defeat  she 
had  known,  and  would  know,  but  never  that  kind  which 
would  have  followed  such  craven  dislo3'alty  as  Mason's. 

Said  Micky  O'Dwyer,  the  English  master  to  his  col- 
league who  dealt  in  "stinks,"  after  all  the  tumult  and 
shouting  had  died  away: 

**I've  found  out  one  thing  Wister  possesses — a  rather 
rare  thing,  too." 

*'Yes?"    His  friend's  voice  had  an  encouraging  note. 

**A  sense  of  the  picturesque — of  drama.  He  has  the 
faculty  of  wrenching  from  an  incident  the  one  thing 
that  marks  it  off  from  the  commonplace.  That,  my  friend, 
is  drama." 

"If  you  say  so,"  said  the  other,  politely. 

"I  do  say  so.  In  his  story  of  the  race,  dragged  from 
him  by  force  and  threat,  did  you  note  one  thing — the 
thing — the  salient  fact  which  o'ertopped  all  the  rest  of 
a  flat  narrative?" 

* '  You  're  dying  to  tell  me,  so  I  won 't  guess, ' '  said  the 
** stinks"  man — a  lovable  person,  you  will  perceive,  a 
pander er  to  others'  self-love. 

"Well,  it  was  that  sudden,  flaming  glory  of  Wesley 
purple  and  gold,  a  most  dramatic  and  picturesque 
description  m  petto  of  a  commonplace  sunset.  A  boy 
that  can  pluck  the  drama  out  of  an  episode  should  not 
be  a  doctor.  Gid. — confound  those  boys  and  their  ill- 
example — Harmer  has  been  wondering  what  his  line  will 
be.  A  sort  of  fairy  godfather  of  his  is  a  doctor,  and 
wishes  the  lad  to  follow  in  his  footsteps,  but  if  anyone 
asks  you,  Ames — so  that  was  his  name — what  I  think 
about  it,  tell  'em,  my  friend,  I'm  agin  it." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  61 

* ' Do  you  think  you've  discovered  a  dramatist,  Micky  ? '  * 
Ames  asked,  with  a  pitying  smile. 

"No — a  journali.si;,  heaven-born,  heaven-sent;  possibly 
a  dramatic  critic,  but  a  dramatist!  Lord,  no.  No  im- 
agination, but  chock — observe  me,  my  maker  of  stinks — 
chock-iull  of  observation,  with  a  nice  sense  of  discrim- 
ination. Mark  me.  By  George,  it's  seven,  and  I'm 
taking  prep." 

With  flying  gown  the  prophet  fled. 


CHAPTER  VII 

*"' Jau  we  all  praise  famous  men, 
Ancients  of  the  College; 
For    they    taught   us   common    sense — 
Tried  to   teach  us   common   sense — 
Truth  and  God's  Own  Common  Sense, 
Which  ia  more   than   knowledge!" 

— A  School  Son* 

WITH  what  gusto  would  Madame  de  Sevigne  have 
aat  down  to  write  a  *' pen-portrait"  of  the 
Master  of  Queen's! 

Incongruities  spring  to  the  mind,  when  one  gazes  for 
the  first  time  at  him.  Could  this  man  of  joyful,  jolly 
laughter,  who  saw  life  as  a  pageant,  and  was  not  content 
(till  he  strode  along  in  the  procession,  like  an  excited 
urchin  at  a  circus  parade,  be  a  minister  of  a  connection 
reputed  as  narrow?  Ben  Jonson  in  a  Methodist  net! 
Rabelais  in  a  monastery !  Shakespeare  in  an  American 
School  for  Journalists ! 

The  rigid  Methodism  that  obtained  forty  years  ago 
must  have  gasped,  when  its  wide  trawl,  amongst  its 
usual  catch,  gripped  in  its  meshes  this  free,  catholic  spirit. 
He,  too,  must  have  eyed  with  a  sort  of  shrinking  dread 
the  grim  church  members,  under  whose  aegis  he  wag  to 
live.  But  it  is  characteristic  of  the  man  that  he  did  not 
break  away  from  the  milieu  in  which  the  accident  of 
birth  had  tossed  him,  willy-nilly.  He  remained,  to  see 
its  asperities  softened,  its  human  sympathy  broadened,  its 
sphere  of  influence  incalculably  widened.  The  barbed 
wire  that  fenced  his  church  when  he  joined  it  has  long 
been  cut  and  carried  away. 

When  his  leaders  established  a  College  atthe  Uni- 
versity for  training  candidates  for  their  ministry  they 
could  find  no  better  man  to  superintend  it  than  he. 

62 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  63 

Por  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  he  has  worked 
to  launch  in  life  men  no  younger  than  himself. 

A  big,  loose  frame ;  a  clean-shaven  face,  with  no  petty 
secrets  to  hide  with  hair ;  its  notable  feature  is  the  lar^e, 
mobile  mouth  of  the  actor  or  preacher,  two  professions 
that  have  much  in  common;  lips  adapted  equally  for 
smiles  or  tenderness;  eyes  that  twinkle  with  fun,  but 
which  meanness  may  irritate  into  steely  contempt ;  three 
chins,  of  which  the  original  is  square ;  a  high,  benignant 
forehead,  crowned  with  a  thick  mat  of  brownish  hair, 
of  the  color  that  grizzles  slowly;  an  immense  leonine 
head  set  on  a  columnar  throat ;  a  thick  nose  that  flouts 
aristocratic  aquilinity,  flaunting  only  its  common  honesty. 
If  he  has  a  weakness — and  the  chin  just  hints  a  fault 
that  the  laughter-loving  mouth  confirms — it  is  the  weak- 
ness of  a  man  who  so  loves  the  sinner  that  he  almost 
forgets  the  sin,  the  weakness  of  him  who  can  forgive  unto 
seventy  times  seven,  who  can  be  stem  only  to  contumacy 
and  cruelty. 

Careless  dress — a  shabby  old  coat  of  one-time  clerical 
gray,  and  tubular  trousers  that  hang  with  a  superfluous 
fold  over  thick,  sensible  boots,  garments  that  announce 
to  the  world  a  scathing  contempt  of  your  niminy-piminy 
creases  and  your  effete  trouser-presses ;  far  back  on  the 
head  there  perilously  hangs  a  trencher,  which  cocks  its 
eye  at  mankind  with  an  impudence  most  unministerial, 
while  challenging  the  rest  of  its  brethren  in  battered 
antiquity,  a  very  rake-hell  of  a  trencher;  sometimes  a 
torn  gown  floats  from  his  shoulders,  oftener  it  breaks  his 
own  rules  and  is  forgotten ;  but  the  old,  foul  pipe  between 
the  teeth  is  eternal.  Eumor  that  will  have  it  he  sleeps 
with  it  may  be  disregarded.  But  he  certainly  parts  with 
it  last  of  all  his  daily  necessaries.  To  make  an  end,  his 
body  is  over  sixty,  his  heart  just  twenty-five.  His  voca- 
tion is  Divinity,  his  delight  Literature,  his  recreation 
Music.  His  is  the  free,  lively  spirit  of  the  men  who 
watched  the  dawn  of  those  "spacious  days  of  great 
Elizabeth."  Their  genius  of  ideal,  their  breadth  of  view, 
their  pride  of  country  reach  forward  over  the  centuries 
and  pluck  him  back  to  their  own  day.    Whenever  he  can 


64.  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

escape  he  flieg  to  them.  In  their  manner,  and  of  their 
matter,  he,  too,  writes. 

So,  in  tenuous,  feeble  outline,  is  the  Reverend  Thomas 
Savile,  Bachelor  of  Science,  Master  of  Arts,  sometime  of 
Yorkshire.  If  there  were  a  degree  in  the  conduct  of 
life,  he  would  rank  high  in  the  class-lists. 

John  Harmer  and  the  Master  worked  as  a  team.  To 
Harmer  came  the  raw  material.  On  his  slips,  it  was 
fashioned  and  hewn  roughly,  to  take  the  water;  he 
weighted  the  keel  for  balance,  and  caulked  the  seams. 
Then,  unfinished,  it  came  into  Savile 's  hands.  He  fast- 
ened on  the  rudder,  stepped  the  masts,  hoisted  the  sails, 
and,  last  service  of  all,  gave  it  a  flag  and  sailing  direc- 
tions. Between  these  two  many  a  clipper-built  craft  has 
been  fitted  out,  and  has  successfully  taken  the  seas.  Fail- 
ures there  have  been.  Some  have  been  posted  as  missing 
at  a  ghostly  Lloyd's.  The  fault  has  lain  in  unsound 
timbers,  or  wilful  disobedience  to  orders.  The  builders 
were  not  to  blame. 

It  was  under  such  a  leader  that  both  Philip  and  Peter 
came  at  the  most  critical  period  of  life.  Philip  followed 
Peter,  after  a  year's  interval.  He  owed  the  gift  of  a 
University  career  to  the  generosity  and  kindliness  of 
the  Master.  Mrs.  Lee  had  not  the  means  to  give  him 
the  chance.  An  ill-paid  clerkship  or  a  trade  apprentice- 
ship offered  poor  alternatives  to  the  fine  product  of  Eton. 
Both  mother  and  son  were  in  despair.  So  was  Peter. 
In  a  pregnant  moment  he  broke  silence,  and  told  the 
Master  the  whole  story.  Magically  the  ways  were  made 
straight.  From  a  fund  at  his  disposal  the  Master  pro- 
cured a  bursary  that  enabled  Philip  to  come  to  College 
for  one  year.  His  further  progress  depended  on  himself. 
If  he  obtained  First-class  Honors  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
the  bursary  would  become  a  scholarship. 

That  incident  was  now  three  years  old.  The  two  boys 
shared  the  same  study.  Both  were  doing  the  law  course. 
Their  room  gradually  focussed  all  that  was  best  in  the 
College.  It  had  a  habit  of  filling  up  during  the  first 
two  terms  for  talk  and  cocoa,  about  ten  o'clock. 

Oh,   those  college   pow-wows!     Questions   which   for 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  65 

generations  had  agitated  the  minds  and  exercised  the 
brains  of  leading  statesmen  came  upon  the  carpet  and 
were  summarily  settled  out  of  hand.  Utopias  came  into 
glorious  mental  being,  needing  only  an  entire  change  of 
heart  and  nature  in.  the  world  to  transform  them  into 
glowing  reality.  August  University  honors  and  ripe  ex- 
perience did  not  save  grave  and  reverend  seigniors  from 
merciless  judgment  in  this  Court.  Nice  questions  of 
College  honor,  of  collegiate  government,  of  good  form 
came  up  before  the  junta  and  rulings  were  given,  which, 
a  little  later,  islanded  in  a  few  black  lines  on  an  immense 
ocean  of  white  paper,  went  up  on  the  Common-room 
Notice  Board  and  passed  into  law. 

The  amazing  discursiveness  of  it  all!  At  ten  o'clock 
the  imaginary  agenda  paper  would  begin  with  sport. 
"With  no  perceivable  wrench  it  would  flow  evenly  in  the 
space  of  an  hour  over  an  infinity  of  subjects  that  in- 
cluded socialism,  religion,  a  new  tennis  court,  psychology, 
international  relations,  including  a  perfectly  new  theory 
for  making  wars  impossible,  intercollegiate  spirit,  death, 
rival  brands  of  cocoa,  a  subject  leading  naturally  to  the 
abolition  of  war,  the  place  of  sex  in  the  cosmos,  and  a 
good  emolient  after  hard  exercise. 

Phil  Lee  was  the  college  hero.  A  great  joss,  seated 
on  a  throne  of  crossed  cricket-bats,  holding  in  each 
upturned  palm  a  leather  ball,  would  be  no  bad  symbol 
for  the  god  of  young  Australia.  It  represents  Phil  at 
this  period.  If  the  average  youth  were  offered  by  a 
walking  delegate  from  the  Infernal  Regions — the  origin 
of  most  of  the  tribe — the  alternative  of  carrying  out  his 
bat  for  120  in  an  important  cricket-match,  or  an  assur- 
ance of  eternal  salvation,  with  the  figure  0  attached  to 
his  celestial  robes  as  an  index  to  his  cricket  capacities, 
not  one  in  ten  would  ever  pay  the  Devil  the  compliment 
of  one  meagre,  little  moment's  hesitation. 

That  very  feat  had  been  accomplished  by  Phil  in  the 
previous  term.  He  had  grown  accustomed  to  his  arrival 
in  Hall  being  signalized  by  the  rattling  of  teaspoons  on 
saucers,  and  the  tattoo  of  feet  on  the  floor.  The  harsh 
"That  will  do,  gentlemen,"  from  the  tutor  on  duty  at 


66  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

the  High  Table  was  merely  an  added  accolade,  that  drew 
attention  to  the  compliment. 

Peter  delighted  in  this  popularity  of  Philip 's,  burning 
incense  before  the  joss.  His  own  place  in  the  college  he 
valued,  but  seriously  considered  it  the  result  of  reflected 
glory.  The  congested  state  of  the  Lee-Wister  study  at 
ten  o'clock  was  a  tribute  none  tried  to  explain.  It  was 
the  rendezvous  of  a  choice  collection  of  earnest  young 
men. 

Good  Heavens!  If  only  the  magnificent  earnestness 
of  young  men  could  by  some  mysterious  alchemy  be  pre- 
served for  the  use  of  middle-age !  One-tenth  of  the  altru- 
ism displayed  in  that  study,  had  it  possessed  the  keeping 
quality  of  good  wine,  for  example,  or  the  powers  of  an 
inoculated  drug,  might  have  turned  every  Australian 
politician  into  a  statesman,  every  preacher  into  a  pastor, 
every  pedant  into  a  teacher,  or,  to  exaggerate  slightly, 
every  labor  agitator  into  a  human  being.  What  an 
attractive  vista  of  possibilities  opens  out  before  the 
dazzled  vision!  Alas!  If  youth  could  be  a  time  of 
happiness  only,  unaccompanied  by  illusion !  Or  if  illu- 
sions could  be  suddenly  transformed  into  facts!  Some 
day  they  will  be.  These  dreams  must  come  true.  Why 
should  young  men  be  granted  visions,  only  to  be  forever 
mocked?  Ideals  will  not  always  wither  in  the  frost  of 
Life-as-it-is.  Come!  Better  a  disappointed  Optimism 
than  a  cynically  grinning  Pessimism! 

The  usual  crowd  was  gathered  about  the  middle  of 
Second  Term,  A  babel  of  voices,  as  they  settled  down 
on  anything  that  could  afford  their  weight.  Then — talk, 
talk — much  that  was  good,  plenty  that  was  banal.  Living 
on  the  heights  in  cold  work.  But  how  they  pounced  on 
anything  fine ! 

O'Shea — little  O'Shea  is  a  professor  now,  worrying 
about  the  High  Cost  of  Living — opened  round  eyes, 
shielded  by  thick  innocent  glasses,  beaming  with  the  light 
of  enthusiasm. 

**  Listen  to  this,  you  chaps — shut  up  there,  Charley — 
it's  fine,  fiTie.     By  god,  this  chap  can  write." 

Then,  in  an  execrable  voice,  he  read  from  one  of  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  67 

newer  gods,  who  is  by  now  an  old  god,  almost  demode. 
O'Shea  called  liim  **a  coming  man." 

Fierce  argument  ensued.  A  chance  spark  from  a 
phrase  lit  a  new  train  of  thought,  which  burnt  splutter- 
ingly  a  minute  or  two  and  then  exploded  a  magazine  of 
ideas,  which  fell  to  savage  discussion.  Arguments  were 
always  explosive  somehow.  The  participants  would 
almost  snatch  the  words  from  each  other's  mouths,  snap- 
ping up  the  conversational  bone,  before  it  had  well 
dropped  from  the  teeth  of  the  last  holder.  Impossible  to 
be  calm  about  matters  that  meant  so  frightfully  much 
to  the  world.  Across  the  room,  dense  with  tobacco  smoke, 
eyes  lit  with  a  glare  of  enthusiasm  would  bore  into  the 
speaker's,  penetrating,  questing  for  truth. 

John  Weir,  theological  student,  dour  and  shabby, 
earning  a  few  extra  shillings  by  taking  Sunday  pulpits 
in  the  country,  generally  came  along  with  an  annotated 
Bible  in  his  pocket.  Some  of  his  notes  would  have 
scandalized  the  Faculty.  He  had  a  high,  cachinnating 
laugh  that  bared  gums  and  palate.  It  was  a  signal  bugle 
he  blew  whenever  he  was  going  to  break  into  a  humorous 
story,  for  which  he  had  a  great  preacher's  gift.  Then, 
the  anecdote  successfully  launched,  and  attention 
focussed  on  him,  his  lugubriousness  returned,  and  he 
would  develop  the  theme  he  was  engaged  in  presenting 
to  the  company.  Now  he  pulled  out  his  Bible,  his  face 
serious  as  a  judge,  while  the  laughter  at  his  story  was 
still  rippling. 

''What  does  this  mean?"  he  roared.  "If  this  means 
what  it  says,"  and  he  slapped  the  open  Bible  savagely, 
' '  we're  all  wrong.  The  whole  of  Methodism  must  go  into 
the  melting-pot.  There's  no  middle  course."  He  read 
the  text  out.  The  debate  waxed  keen  as  a  meeting  of  the 
early  Fathers. 

"A  man  can't  preach  that.  I'll  have  to  leave  the 
ministry.  Methodism  is  doomed.  It 's  founded  on  wrong 
assumptions." 

His  portentons,  extravagant  judgments  sounded  infi- 
nitely solemn  to  them  all.  The  fire  cracked  loudly ;  they 
started.    "Weir  made  the  imminent  destruction  of  Metho- 


68  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

dism  sound  very  real  and  near.  But  a  word  misused,  a 
wrong  conclusion,  a  faulty  premise  diverted  the  argu- 
ment. Le  Mestre  caught  up  "Weir  suddenly  with  a 
question. 

"What  is  Evil?"  he  asked,  in  his  queer,  quietly 
gentle  tones,  his  face  long  and  earnest,  A  First-class  in 
Philosophy  made  him  the  natural  guardian  of  the  truths 
it  embodied. 

*' What  is  Evil  ?  Jack  Weir  uses  the  word  glibly  in  his 
confounded  clerical  way  and  fixes  some  damned  con- 
ventional meaning  to  it,  and  blasts  us  with  a  conclusion." 
The  expletory  style  of  Le  Mestre  was  comically  at  vari- 
ance with  his  gentleness.  *'His  whole  argument  is  based 
on  a  false  definition.  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  Evil,  any- 
way ?    Isn  't  it  only  undeveloped  Good  1 ' ' 

Everyone  tried  hard  to  consider  whether  Evil  after  all 
was  not  just  Good  with  its  back  turned. 

**But  you  must  use  terms  in  their  ordinary,  everyday 
significance,  Le  Mestre,"  Weir  retorted. 

"Not  when  you're  discussing  a  thing  philosophically," 
Le  Mestre  informed  him,  with  serene  certainty.  "You 
must  always  define  your  terms.  Scientific  nomenclature 
isn't  ordinary  nomenclature.  Besides,  you're  guilty  of  a 
howling  ^varepov  Trporepov — why  the  devil  don't  they  teach 
you  theologs  logic?" 

The  argument  went  on,  till  a  drawling,  tired  voice 
exclaimed  with  humorous  effect : 

"0-h,  dry  up,  you  chaps.  We  don't  all  do  logic. 
Some  of  us  ignorant  blighters  are  only  rotten  Science 
men — ^we  know  nothing.  How'd  you  like  me  to  work 
out  the  perimeter  of  Venus?  Weir  knows  nothing  of 
logic  and  Le  Mestre  knows  the  same  amount  of  theology. 
Hit  a  chap  your  own  size." 

Long,  shambling,  gangling  Irwin  looked  mild  boredom. 
No  one,  to  look  at  him,  would  have  suspected  that  the 
almost  ludicrous  physiognomy  concealed  a  wonderful 
brain,  that  he  was  destined  to  become  in  a  few  years  one 
of  the  leading  astronomers  in  the  world.  Le  Mestre  and 
Weir,  red  with  strenuous  argument,  joined  in  the  laugh- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  69 

ter  that  effectually  broke  up  the  pursuit  of  the  meta- 
physical hare.    Soon  the  air  throbbed  with  a  new  subject. 

"Jolly  decent  of  White  to  let  that  stroke  go,"  Phil 
remarked,  coming  into  the  room  with  a  steaming  jug  of 
cocoa,  brewed  over  the  gas-ring  common  to  the  staircase. 

"Can't  see  that,"  Ferres,  a  medical  student,  broke  in. 
Phil  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Didn't  think  there 'd  be  two  opinions  in  a  case  like 
that,'*  he  said. 

The  incident  he  referred  to  is  worth  relating,  focussing 
as  it  did  in  itself  all  that  was  best  in  College  life. 

The  intercollegiate  tennis  matches  were  just  over. 
Trinity  and  Queen's  had  met  in  the  last  round.  Kivalry, 
as  it  always  is  in  these  contests,  was  keen,  being  a  legacy 
from  the  schools  where  the  contestants  have  generally 
met  each  other  ^before. 

Queen's  and  Trinity  were  well  matched.  Towards  the 
end,  a  hard-fought  match  left  the  teams  in  the  interest- 
ing position  of  equal  games,  and  the  last  set  was  nearing 
its  conclusion.  Deuce  was  called.  Queen's  won  the  next 
stroke.  Trinity,  after  a  splendid  rally,  evened  the  score. 
Twenty  times  the  fluctuating  tide  of  play  delayed  the 
issue  of  the  game,  as  each  side  won  alternate  points. 
It  soon  became  a  fixed  idea  with  the  shouting  crowd  that 
victory  would  finally  perch  on  the  banners  of  the  side 
that  won  this  important  game. 

At  this  juncture  the  Queen 's  server  sent  in  a  swinging 
serve  that  just  touched  the  line.  The  line  umpire,  caught 
napping,  called  "Fault!"  A  yell  from  the  crowd  on 
that  side  of  the  court  gave  evidence  of  a  conflict  of 
opinion,  "White,  the  Trinity  striker,  smiled  and  shook 
his  head  at  the  umpire, 

*  *  It  was  quite  right, ' '  he  said.  But  tbe  umpire,  wisely 
determined  not  to  recall  a  judgment  once  given,  stolidly 
repeated  his  verdict.  The  next  serve  happened  to  be  a 
"fault,"  too,  and  the  stroke  went  to  Trinity.  The  next 
stroke  would  give  them  "game,"  and,  as  things  were 
then  going,  almost  certainly  "set"  and  "rubber." 

The  crowd  watched  tensely.  Not  a  sound  could  be 
heard  as  the  balls  were  thrown  back  to  the  server,  and 


70  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

he  prepared  to  send  his  first  serve  over.  It  came — an 
easy,  natural  lob,  most  meet  for  the  drive  that  White 
was  famous  for.  He  did  not  even  raise  his  racket.  The 
ball  flew  harmlessly  behind  him,  and  the  point  went  to 
Queen's.  A  roar  of  dismay — then  a  counter-roar  of 
admiration  greeted  the  sporting  spirit  that  would 
not  accept  a  wrong  decision.  Queen's  won  the  set  and 
rubber. 

"A  man's  first  duty  is  to  his  side,"  Ferres  insisted. 
"All  this  nobility  of  conduct  is  all  very  well  from  the 
grandstand,  but  a  man  can't  take  the  responsibility  of 
deciding  a  point  like  that  for  himself,  and  sacrificing 
his  college." 

*'I'd  be  sorry  to  think  you  meant  that,  old  chap," 
Phil  said,  with  a  smile..  "White  did  the  finest  thing 
I've  seen  in  sport.  I  tell  you  I'm  damned  sorry  we  had 
to  win  the  match.  I  'd  have  thrown  away  a  stroke  only  it 
would  have  looked  too  much  like  imitation.  Poetic  justice 
should  have  seen  that  Trinity  won." 

His  fine,  flashing  eyes,  alight  with  generous  enthu- 
siasm, abashed  Ferres. 

"Well,  I  admire  him,  but  I  still  think  he  was  wrong," 
he  said. 

"What  do  you  think,  Peter?"  Phil  asked. 

Peter,  who  had  listened  with  attention  to  all  the  talk, 
without  saying  anything  himself,  looked  up  at  his  friend. 

"I'd  sooner  be  White  to-night  than  the  King  of  Eng- 
land," he  said. 

' '  Hear !  Hear ! ' '  Phil  applauded  the  sentiment.  * '  All 
I  can  say  is  that  I  hope,  when  the  opportunity  comes, 
I'll  have  the  moral  courage  to  disappoint  my  friends  in 
order  to  do  the  decent  thing." 

O'Shea  quoted  unetuous'ly : 

"  ^The  game  is  more  than  the  player  of  the  game 
And  the  ship  is  mwe  than  the  crew.'  " 

"Oh,  Lord,  if  Kipps  is  going  to  spout  poetry,  I'm 
off,"  said  Ferres. 

"Keep  your  seat,  Martin,"  advised  Le  Metre. 
"There's  no  danger,  if  wo  keep  our  heads.  He  can't 
help  it.    He  Kipples  in  his  sleep." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  71 

A  heavy  knock  at  the  outer  door  had  sounded  as 
O'Shea  began  his  quotation, 

''That  ass  Sawj^er  come  to  borrow  more  cocoa,"  re- 
marked Phil,  as  a  little  silence  fell.  He  gathered  up  a 
red  cushion. 

"Come  in  and  he  damned  to  you,"  lie  called,  and 
threw,  as  the  inner  door  opened. 

*'I'll  be  very  cheerfully  damned,  if  you  only  let  me 
get  in,"  said  the  Master,  his  roar  of  laughter  easily 
leading  the  others. 

"  'Abandon  hope  all  ye  who  enter  here,'  "  he  recited, 
sepulchrally,  and  his  ready  laughter  broke  again. 

"Sorry,  Master,  I  thought  it  was  somebody  else," 
Phil  apoligized. 

"You  young  devil,  if  I  didn't  believe  that,  I'd — 
I'd  rusticate  you.    "Who's  got  all  the  tobacco?" 

Half  a  dozen  pouches  were  held  aloft. 

"Here  you  are.  Master,"  Ferres  called,  pitching  his 
across. 

' '  Oh,  no,  Martin,  not  that  awful  Boer  stuff.  I  've  tried 
that  camel-dung,  thank  you.  Once  is  enough  for  an 
old  stager.    Never  again.    Ugh!" 

"If  you'll  use  a  smaller  pipe,  I'll  give  you  some 
real  tobacco,"  Le  Mestre  offered,  with  gentle  irony.  At 
the  same  time  he  threw  a  pouch  which  the  Master  caught 
dexterously,  returning  Ferres'  with  a  laugh. 

"Here,  take  this  arm-chair,  sir,"  invited  O'Shea,  get- 
ting up. 

"No,  no,  Kipps;  keep  it,  keep  it.  I'll  squat  on  the 
table.    I'm  too  young  for  padded  ease." 

He  cleared  a  space  and  hitched  himself  into  position. 
Soon  his  pipe  drew  freely  and  clouds  of  aromatic  smoke 
issued  from  his  lips. 

" Ah !"  he  breathed.  "Would  you  believe  Conference 
wanted  me  to  give  up  my  pipe  ?  They  think  it 's  immoral 
to  enjoy  anything  so  much  as  I  do  tobacco.  Some  of 
those  chaps  will  head  a  movement  for  making  heaven 
uncomfortable.  It'll  go  against  their  consciences  to  be 
happy." 

A  roar  of  laughter  and  remonstrance  arose. 


72  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

* '  Fact !  I  told  'em  I  'd  give  it  up  as  soon  as  I  'd  smoked 
the  plug  I  was  using.  The  missus  is  taking  care  of  it 
for  me,  in  ease  I  use  it  by  mistake."  He  roared  with 
appreciation  at  the  trick,  which  was  probably  apocryphal. 

*'You're  a  Jesuit,  Master,"  Le  Mestre  accused  him. 

''"Well  the  Jesuits  know  how  to  make  this  life  com- 
fortable," he  retorted.  "I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  next. 
Well,  that's  enough  nonsense.  You  fellows  do  talk  a 
lot  of  rot.  How's  the  great  Philip  after  the  fine  game 
he  put  up  to-day?"  He  turned  to  Phil,  with  an  affec- 
tionate smile,  and  <;ast  a  great  arm  about  his  shoulder. 

''Not  quite  so  bucked  up  as  if  we'd  lost  to  Trinity, 
Master,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  wish  it  had  been  one  of  our  fellows  who  had  the 
chance  of  throwing  away  that  stroke,"  agreed  the  Master. 
"It  was  the  most  successful  failure  Trinity's  ever  had. 
I've  sent  a  note  to  the  Warden." 

"Good  business,"  approved  Phil,  and  the  others 
chimed  in. 

"It  was  splendid  of  White,"  the  Master  repeated. 
"And  did  I  hear  the  words  of  the  great  Kipling  as  I 
came  to  the  door?" 

"You  certainly  did,  Master,"  O'Shea  assured  him. 
"He's  like  the  Bible — got  a  text  for  all  occasions." 

"  H  'm !  Methinks  I  note  a  subtle  difference,  0  Kipps, ' ' 
the  visitor  said,  whimsically  smiling.  * '  Any  cocoa  going  ? 
My  wife's  out  at  a  concert,  and  the  girls  starve  me. 
They  think  I  'm  getting  fat. 

While  Phil  hastened  to  borrow  a  cup  and  saucer,  the 
talk  ran  ^brisker  than  ever.  Youthful  positiveness  had, 
however,  the  grace  to  feel  abashed  in  the  presence  of 
the  man  who  knew  so  much  that  he  had  gauged  the 
extent  of  his  own  ignorance,  and  was  positive  about 
nothing  but  the  goodness  of  God.  He  perceived  the 
inwardness  of  their  minds;  he  loved  tbeir  idealism;  saw 
their  visions;  warned  them  gently  of  lions  in  the  path. 
Yet  never  a  word  of  goody-goodiness,  not  a  whisper  of 
professionalism  marred  the  effect  of  his  influence. 

At  eleven  he  shuflEled  off  the  table,  and  knocked  the 
dottle  from  his  pipe. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  73 

"By-by  time,  lads.  Thanks  for  the  cocoa,  Phil.  And 
I  owe  you  a  pipeful  of  the  worst  tobacco  I  ever  smoked, 
Colin,"  he  turned  to  Le  Mestre. 

*'And  I'll  get  it  if  you  pay  me  back  with  that  awful 
stuff  you  use.  Master.  Why  don't  you  buy  tobacco  in- 
stead of  getting  it  at  an  ironmonger's  with  a  pound  of 
nails  ? ' '  retorted  Le  Mestre,  with  calm  insolence.  ' '  And  I 
may  as  well  warn  you  that  we're  going  to  forbid  the 
smoking  of  refuse  about  the  corridors.  What  is  the  stuff  ? 
Oak  leaves?" 

"Oak  leaves!  A  malison  on  you,  scurvy  knave.  It 
stands  me  in  four  bob  a  pound."  With  a  burst  of 
laughter  at  the  windy  nonsense  he  talked  with  these 
younglings,  he  backed  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  a 
shower  of  good-nights,  in  every  one  of  which  was  a  true 
benison. 

** Isn't  he  a  ripping  old  boy?"  Phil  said,  admiringly. 
**  'Night,  you  chaps;  thanks  for  coming,  Had  a  great 
jaw.''  ^ 

Noisily  they  clattered  into  the  corridor,  pitching  the 
sentinel  boots  of  innocent,  sleeping  students  down  the 
stairs,  in  fine  disarray.  Phil  shut  the  door,  and  turned 
to  Peter. 

''My  hat,  Peter,  it  scares  me  to  think  I  might  never 
have  come  to  Queen's,"  he  said. 

*'You  wanted  Trinity,"  Peter  reminded  him. 

**Yeg,  what  a  priceless  ass  I  was!  Do  you  know  I 
think  I  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  hateful  kids 
ever  born!  The  Master's  knocked  a  lot  of  the  fool  out 
of  me.  I  hope  he  finishes  with  the  job  before  I  go  down. 
Lord,  won't  we  feel  lost,  when  we  leave." 

"My  word!"  said  the  brief  Peter,  to  whom  rhapsody 
was  foreign.  "But  we'll  always  have  the  old  Boss  to 
come  to,  if  things  get  hard." 

'  *  Yes.  It 's  great  to  think  of  that.  He  never  preaches. 
A  sermon  'd  drive  me  dotty."  Peter  looked  at  him  with 
amusement. 

"You  silly  ass,  you've  been  listening  to  one,  for  the 
last  half -hour,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"Sere  we  sit  in  a  branchy  row, 
TMnlcing  of  beautiful  things  we  "know; 
Dreaming   of   deeds   that   we   mean   to   do, 
All  complete  in  a  minute  or  two — 
Something  noble  and  grand  and  good. 
Won  by  merely  wishing  we  could." 

— KOAD-SONG    OF    THE    BaNDAR-LoO 

TO  commence  Bachelor  of  Laws  is  a  splendid 
achievement  whose  glory  fades  in  inverse  ratio 
as  the  years  advance.  At  fifty  it  may  seem  a 
poor,  futile  occasion  for  such  immense  gratulation  as 
stirs  the  heart  of  twenty-three.  Philip  and  Peter  were 
proud  of  their  white  hoods  and  rabbit  fur,  this  auspicious 
Commencement  Day.  Peter  went  off  to  find  his  mother, 
who  had  come  down  with  Jim  to  witness  their  boy's 
triumph.  Philip,  attracting  many  eyes,  strolled  about 
the  Quad  of  the  University,  surreptitiously  regarding 
the  "hang"  of  his  hood.  As  academical  groups  met 
and  melted  into  changing  geometrical  figures,  he  com- 
pared it  with  others,  forgetful  that  all  were  equally  new. 

Furtively  he  noted  a  classmate.  Hang  the  fellow,  he 
was  wearing  the  elastic  front  loop  round  his  third 
waistcoat  button,  bringing  the  hood  much  higher  up  the 
back.  Phil  had  it  round  the  top  button.  lie  turned 
away,  and,  under  cover  of  reading  the  notices  in  the 
glassed-in  Notice  Case,  he  made  the  important  change. 

Unfortunately,  the  other  man,  quite  as  self-conscious 
as  Philip,  had  also  noted  the  discrepancy  and  made  the 
necessarj'  alteration.  Phil,  accordingly,  was  horrified, 
when  he  turned  round  to  face  the  world,  to  find  that  he 
still  required  an  Act  of  Uniformity  to  bring  him  into 
line  with  his  fellows. 

74 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  75 

Neither  Peter  nor  Phil  had  any  great  call  to  the  Law. 
Neither  had  felt  that  imperious  urge  to  definite  selection 
of  a  path.  They  had  arrived  at  a  choice  through  elimina- 
tion rather  than  desire.  Their  tastes  and  impulses  were 
of  the  awkward  kind,  to  which  Medicine,  Science,  En- 
gineering and  the  Technical  Arts  do  not  minister. 

So  it  happened  that  the  Law,  august,  chill,  standing  in 
dignified,  almost  marble  majesty,  was  destined  to  see  two 
insolent,  puny  figures  climb  her  plinth;  to  feel  them 
grasp  her  bleak,  stony  arm;  drag  themselves  forward 
between  her  stately  legs,  and  impudently  pick  out  a  land- 
ing spot  on  some  infinitely  lower  plane  beneath  her. 

Peter  had  found  his  parents,  and  joyfully  haled  them 
along  to  Philip. 

Polly  greeted  Phil  warmly,  and  it  w^as  positive  that 
she  meant  to  kiss  him.  He  found  a  bootlace  that  had 
come  undone  at  the  critical  moment. 

"My  word,  and  you  have  got  a  prize,  too,  Phil? 
How  pleased  your  ma '11  be.    Is  she  here?" 

"She's  inside  the  Hall,  Mrs.  Wister,"  Phil  told  her. 
"Come  on,  and  we'll  get  you  a  good  seat.  There's  a 
big  crowd."  His  manner  to  her  was  perfection,  and  it 
was  a  proud  woman  who  entered  the  Hall,  between  two 
such  specimens. 

"Jim — angels,"  she  said,  as  they  sat  down,  and  the 
boys  left  them  to  take  their  own  seats  on  the  dais.  She 
pointed  with  a  frank  hand  at  the  carved  figures  that 
decorated  the  ends  of  the  great  curved  beams  that  formed 
part  of  the  groining  of  the  roof. 

Her  attention  was  caught  by  the  sight  of  Peter  on  the 
dais,  and  she  informed  people  for  several  seats  around 
that  that  was  her  boy,  the  one  with  the  red  hair.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  she  added,  with  a  vague  memory  of 
the  degree  he  was  taking  out.  Jim,  stolid,  silent  and 
observant,  sat  without  a  word,  but  he  was  too  good- 
natured  to  spoil  his  Polly's  happiness  by  any  rebuke  to 
her  clattering  tongue.  This  was  her  day,  so,  though  he 
felt  the  acute  unhappiness  of  a  shy  man,  he  made  no 
remonstrance. 

The  Chancellor  duly  recited  the  "authority  conferred 


76  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

upon  him,"  and  "admitted  Philip  Pascoe  Egerton  Lee, 
Peter  Wister,"  and  some  five  other  young  men  *'to 
the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Laws  of  the  University  of 
Melbourne. ' ' 

It  was  over.  Hitherto  thoy  had  paid  fees.  Now  after 
a  brief  apprenticeship  they  would  be  authorized  to  take 
them.  They  pressed  outside  with  the  crowd,  which 
eddied  with  apparent  unintelligibility,  until  it  threw 
them  from  its  perimeter. 

"Happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Wister,  LL.B.,"  grinned 
Phil,  a-s  they  found  themselves  comparatively  alone,  and 
walked  to  sort  the  parent  Wisters  out  of  the  welter. 

"Oh,  have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  the  well-known 
barrister,  Mr.  P.  P.  E.  Lee?  I've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Lee. 
Didn't  you  save  that  poor  man  from  the  gallows,  after 
the  Crown  indicted  him  for  lighting  a  match  on  a  police- 
man?" asked  Peter,  gravely. 

"Fancy  remembering  that — a  trifle,"  Phil  rejoined, 
grandly.  "Your  firm,  I  am  rejoiced  to  note,  have  done 
well  in  that  Privy  Council  Appeal,  Mr.  WLster." 

"Tolerably — tolerably — er — ten  thousand  pounds 
costs,"  and  Peter  broke  into  shouts  of  laughter,  in  which 
Philip  joined. 

"What  a  lark !"  he  said.  Polly  bore  down  upon  them, 
leaving  several  ladies  in  her  wake  with  angry  feelings 
and  maltreated  corns. 

"Jim's  somewhere  in  there,"  she  explained,  and  Phil 
dashed  in  to  rescue  the  poor  chap,  who  could  have  drafted 
a  mob  of  wethers  in  half  the  time  it  took  him  to  clear  a 
space  for  his  own  progress. 

"Now,  tea,"  Phil  announced.  "You're  my  guests, 
and  I'm  going  to  blow  you  to  something  out  of  the 
ordinary.     What  do  you  say  to  a  crayfish  and  beer?" 

"Ain't  it  a  bit  early  for  crays — or  late?  Which  is 
it?"  inquired  Polly. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Wister,"  Phil  informed  her,  "under 
competent  legal  advice,  you  may  eat  crayfish  at  any 
time  without  the  least  fear  of  consequences." 

"Fancy  that,"  said  Polly,  "and  you  wouldn't  have 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  77 

thouglit  it  would  have  made  any  difference.     Come  on, 
father,  the  beer '11  buck  you  up." 

Across  the  Oval  they  walked,  Phil  in  his  most  ridic- 
ulous mood.  Polly  listened  with  amazement  and  delight 
to  a  story  he  told  of  Peter  and  the  Chief  Justice,  in 
which  it  was  made  to  appear  that  the  tipstaff  of  that 
august  official  was  sent  to  the  lecture-room  at  the  law 
courts  to  find  Mr.  Peter  Wister  forthwith  and  bring  him 
before  the  Judge. 

"Law,  whatever  for?"  demanded  Polly. 

"That's  right,"  shouted  Phil.    "You've  guessed  it." 

"Me?  I  ain't  said  a  word,"  declared  the  puzzled 
little  woman. 

* '  Yes.  Law,  you  said.  That 's  what  Peter  was  wanted 
for.  The  Judge  had  met  with  a  knotty  point,  and,  of 
course  being  baffled  and  knowing  of  Peter — well,  you 
see,  how  naturally  it  all  came  about.  That's  why  they 
gave  him  his  degree  today." 

"Well,  I  never.  And  Petey  not  writing  a  word  about 
it,"  admired  Polly.  Mentally  she  was  making  notes  for 
retailing  the  splendid  history  in  Wandilla.  Peter  was 
explaining  the  various  buildings  to  his  father  and 
missed  the  veracious  account. 

Randall  hurried  past  them — the  doctor  who  had 
stopped  Peter's  rowing  career  years  before.  He  paused 
for  a  kindly  word  of  congratulation,  and  praised  Peter 
to  his  mother. 

"What  a  nice  young  man,"  she  said,  as  the  doctor 
hurried  on. 

*  *  One  of  the  best, ' '  said  Peter. 

"He's  in  a  tremendous  hurry,"  she  remarked.  Phil 
grew  grave. 

"He  always  is,"  and  his  voice  was  wonderfully  gentle. 
"He  is  going  to  die  of  T.B.  in  a  few  months,  and  he  has 
a  lot  of  work  to  get  through  before  he  goes.  ^  He  knows 
exactly  when  his  strength  will  oblige  him  to  give  up,  you 
see,  so  he  measures  out  his  days.  Pluck!  There's  no 
one  like  Randall.  But  it  makes  him  always  in  rather 
a  hurry." 

There  was  unwonted  silence  till  they  were  in  the 


78  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

study,  and  then  the  sadness  passed  away,  and  Polly's 
laugh  of  delight  and  enjoyment  resounded  through  the 
empty  corridors.  They  ate  with  zest  their  preposterous 
afternoon  supper,  and  then  Peter  and  Phil  showed  them 
around — the  Chapel,  the  Common  Koom,  Library,  in  all 
of  wliich  they  professed  to  be  interested,  though  it  is 
doubtful  if  they  understood  the  functions  of  any  room 
except  the  Chapel.  Then  they  came  to  the  Dining  Hall. 
A  temporary  proscenium  occupied  the  dais,  where  ordi- 
narily the  High  Table  stood.  It  was  being  prepared  for 
the  Foundation  Day  Play,  an  annual  celebration. 

"Phil's  going  to  be  in  it,"  Peter  explained,  "and  you 
two '11  have  to  be  here  early,  because  there's  always  a 
tremendous  crowd." 

"Then  we'll  have  to  be  gittin'  back  to  the  hotel,  for 
rest  me  feet,  I'll  have  ter,  along  of  these  dratted  noo 
boots,"  said  Mrs.  Wister.  "Come  on,  father."  She 
dragged  him  out  of  the  room,  and  directed  his  attention 
to  a  huge  wood  bin  that  stood  in  the  corridor,  as  being 
likely  to  engage  his  bucolic  interest.  Swiftly  she  turned 
to  the  young  men,  hauling  at  the  string  of  a  huge  bag 
she  carried.  With  a  frown  that  was  enough  to  shock 
them  into  secrecy  she  so  evidently  was  enjoying,  she 
removed  a  purse  and  abstracted  from  it  a  roll  of  notes,  a 
slender  roll,  be  it  understood. 

"Egg  money,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "Boys  is 
gen 'ally  short,  especially  when  they  ain't  earnin' 
nothin'.  Here,  Peter,  there's  somethin'  to  go  on,  an' 
give  Phil  his  share." 

Phil  saw  with  horror  two  pounds  thrust  into  Peter's 
hand.  He  stepped  forward,  the  gentle  blood  in  him 
rising  to  what  must  only  have  sound^^d  like  a  haughty  re- 
fusal to  the  dear,  simple  country  woman.  Then  he 
managed  one  of  the  finest  things  he  ever  did.  "With  his 
exquisite  smile  he  stopped  and  kissed  Polly. 

"My  word,  Mrs.  Wister,  you're  the  proper  sort. 
We'll  have  a  gorgeous  burst  on  this,  won't  we,  Peter? 
Thank  you  a  hundred  times." 

Peter  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  and  Mrs.  Wister 
beamed. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  79 

**My!  You'll  be  makin'  Jim  jealous,  Phil,"  she 
smiled.  "Come  on,  father,  an'  stop  lookin'  at  them 
nigger  weppins.  You'll  be  dreamin'  o'  boomerangs  an' 
spears  t 'night,  'specially  after  that  crayfish." 

The  tram  bore  them  away. 

"That  was  jolly  decent  of  you,  old  man,"  Peter 
said,  gratefully.  ' '  I  mean  having  them  over,  and  getting 
that  grub.  Who  told  you  the  old  boy  was  fond  of  a 
Cray?" 

"Heard  you  say  it  some  time.  I  enjoyed  them 
thoroughly.  What  a  splendid  little  woman  your  mater 
is,  Peter!  Jolly  sporting  of  her  to  weigh  in  w^ith  a 
tip  like  that." 

Peter  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  He  did  not  wish 
to  apologize  for  the  gaucherie  of  his  mother,  but  he 
sensed  the  sudden  impulse  of  Philip  to  refuse  her  gift 
with  a  eurtness  that  must  have  hurt  her. 

"You  won't  mind  taking  it,  old  chap?  She  looks  on 
you  as  a  brother  of  mine.     That's  how  it  is " 

Phil  never  did  things  by  half.     He  spoke  up  quickly. 

"Take  it?  Kather.  You  hand  over  my  fair  share, 
you  beggar.  We'll  drink  her  health  after  the  show 
to-night.  The  mater  will  be  up.  She  didn't  feel  like 
coming  over  here  this  afternoon  as  well,  or  I  'd  have  got 
her  to  meet  your  pater  and  mater.  I  didn't  see  her 
after  the  Commencement,  in  fact." 

The  Play  would  mark  their  severance  from  the  College. 
Phil  had  taken  an  active  part  in  managing  the  function. 
A  very  real  gift  and  love  for  acting  was  his,  and  he 
liked  nothing  better  than  playing  in  the  sort  of  piece 
the  Master  chose  to  stage  on  these  occasions.  Some- 
times it  would  be  a  play  of  Shakespeare,  sometimes  a 
Kestoration  comedy,  a  Sheridan  play,  or  one  of  his  own 
rollicking  translations  of  the  Latin  comic  poets. 

To-night  Sheridan's  "The  Critic"  had  been  prepared, 
and  Phil  was  playing  the  part  of  Mr.  Puif,  the  bombastic 
author,  who  proudly  exhibits  the  final  rehearsal  of  his 
play  to  the  critics.  Dangle  and  Sneer.  Peter  was  not  in 
the  play.  He  utterly  lacked  the  ability  to  imagine  him- 
self out  of  his  own  skin,  and  after  trjdng  him  in  a 


80  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

small  part  Phil  had  reluctantly  jettisoned  him.  He  was 
free,  therefore,  to  meet  his  parents  again,  while  Phil 
dressed. 

In  the  Common-room  a  professional  labored,  making 
up  the  actors,  and  adjusting  costumas,  sternly  forbidding 
the  grave  Burleigh,  for  instance,  to  go  on  the  stage  with 
his  tights  wrong  side  before,  and  tactfully  suggesting  to 
another  actor  that  modern  evenmg  pumps  were  not  the 
usual  wear  for  an  Elizabethan  sailor. 

Excitement  ran  high,  for  a  rumor  gained  ground 
that  a  very  great  personage  in  the  theatrical  world,  a 
visiting  manager  whose  company  was  playing  in  Mel- 
bourne, was  coming.  He  had  played  in  this  very  piece, 
when  the  great  Charles  Mathews  was  Mr.  Puff,  and  he 
was  anxious  to  revive  memories.  The  costumer,  who 
did  work  for  the  theater,  had  mentioned  the  performance, 
and  caprice  did  the  rest. 

The  very  Chancellor  who  had  admitted  Phil  into  the 
honorable  guild  of  lawyers  that  afternoon  was  to  be  the 
guest  of  honor. 

Presently  a  nervous,  shuffling,  whispering  crowd  of 
Tery  modern  youths  in  fancy  dress  pressed  into  the  nar- 
row confines  of  the  "wings,"  and  listened  impatiently 
to  the  Master's  scholarly  exposition  of  the  place  of 
Sheridan  in  English  drama.  Only  thus  could  the  un- 
conquerable prejudice  of  Me1;hodists  against  stage  repre- 
sentations be  sufficiently  calmed  to  allow  the  performance. 
An  annual  battle  raged,  indeed,  whenever  the  Foundation 
Day  celebration  came  under  discussion.  And  always  the 
same  sop  was  thrown  to  Cerberus — a  ten  minutes' 
lecturette,  and  then  the  dangerous  play  itself. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  the  play  could  begin.  Mr. 
Puff,  Mr.  Dangle  and  Mr.  Sneer  were  free  to  walk  on 
in  front  of  the  curtain  and  begin  the  expository  dialogue, 
which  culminates  with  the  grandiloquent  order  from  Mr. 
Puff — ^"Up  curtain,  and  let  us  see  what  our  painters 
have  done  for  us." 

Phil  possessed  all  the  splendid  un-self-consciousness 
of  a  born  actor.  The  people  did  not  exist,  save  sub- 
consciously.    He  was  the  vain,  turgid  Mr.  Puff,  absorbed 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  81 

in  showing  the  critics  the  marvelous  ingenuity  of  his 
stage  mechanism  for  representing  the  naval  battle  in 
which  the  Armada  was  destroyed.  His  look  of  painful 
interest  as  the  red  fire  burnt  on  the  toy  ships  created 
just  exactly  the  ridiculous  effect  the  author  meant.  Mr. 
Puff  is  the  only  one  who  cannot  see  that  the  thing  is 
foolish.  Any  exhibition  of  humor  on  his  part  is  fatal  to 
the  illusion. 

The  great  theatrical  man,  who  was  there,  leaned 
across  to  the  Chancellor,  whom  he  admitted  to  his 
acquaintance,  and  observed  in  a  loud  whisper : 

"That  boy's  immense — immense."  The  Chancellor 
nodded.  His  lips  were  creased  in  joyous  smiles.  He  was 
enjoying  the  creation  of  a  greater  master  than  ever  the 
great  manager  would  be,  and  the  purest  of  pleasures 
possessed  him.  He  certainly  did  not  recognize  in  the 
strutting,  posturing  Puff  the  individual  for  whom  he 
had  thajt  afternoon  used  ''the  authority  conferred  on 
him."  Did  not  some  cold  premonitory  breath  pass 
over  him,  great  ornament  of  the  Law  as  he  was,  warning 
him  that  he  was  witnessing  something  that  was  for  ever 
to  snatch  from  the  mistress  he  served  a  neophyte  his  own 
hands  had  dedicated  to  her  service?  Possibly  not.  If 
the  spirit  entrusted  with  the  cold  breath  in  question  were 
actually  there,  it  was  probably  chuckling  with  glee  at 
the  absurdity  before  it,  or  perhaps  exchanging  a  word 
with  the  wraith  of  Sheridan  himself,  who  surely  must  be 
interested  in  a  scholarly  exposition  of  his  place  in  English 
dramia,  and  possibly  even  in  an  excellent  presentation 
of  his  plays. 

The  curtain  fell.  The  audience  melted  away,  for  the 
most  part  to  the  studies,  where  cocoa  and  biscuits  or 
in  rare  instances  cakes  and  ale,  were  lying  in  state.  The 
tired  Phil,  delighted  beyond  measure,  bad  dashed  up 
to  his  room  to  see  if  Peter  had  all  his  guests  marshaled. 
He  had  barely  time  to  speak  to  his  mother,  when  a  man 
came  running. 

*'PhilI  Mr.  Puff!  Puff!  Mr.  Ingleby  is  asking  for 
you." 

Now  Ingleby  was  the  very  distinguished  person. 


82  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Phil  hastily  excused  himself,  and  hurried  down  the 
stairs.  One  of  the  penalties  of  successful  acting  is  that 
it  carries  with  it  a  love  of  applause.  Never  believe  an 
actor  who  tells  you  he  never  reads  the  papers.  Phil  was 
intoxicated  with  the  delicious  incense  he  had  received. 
The  noise  of  hand-clapping  even  now  lingered  on  the 
quivering  air.  The  great  man  came  a  few  steps  to  meet 
him. 

"Ah!  It's  my  young  friend,  who  doesn't  see  his 
audience,"  was  the  friendly  greeting  of  the  great 
Ingleby. 

Phil  pressed  the  two  fingers  held  out  to  him,  most 
gratefully.  He  would  have  been  charmed  with  one. 
Did  he  have  any  foresight  of  the  day  when  he  would 
offer  the  astounded  Ingleby  one  finger  in  exchange? 
No  whit  more  than  a  cold  breath  smote  the  Chancellor. 
These  things  have  not  happened  since  the  mid-Victo- 
rians stopped  writing. 

"You  have  a  gift,  my  boy — a  great  gift.  Never  go 
on  the  stage.  I  alwaj^s  tell  aspirants  that.  Never  dream 
of  going  on  the  stage.  The  way  is  difficult,  and  success 
is  hardly  come  at.  But  if  you  should  think  of  taking 
up  the  hard,  terrible,  wondrous,  ennobling  life  of  dram- 
atic Art,"  and  properly  to  render  the  emphasis  and 
solemnity  of  the  great  Ingleby  one  should  use  capitals, 
"come  and  see  me.     Here  is  my  card." 

Into  Philip's  hand  was  thrust  a  pasteboard,  with  much 
the  air  as  though  it  were  a  passport  to  heaven. 

"I'm  glad  you  enjoyed  it,  sir,"  said  Philip. 

"I  didn't,  my  boy.  These  things  never  reach  me  now. 
I  am  beyond  all  sense  of  enjoyment  from  them.  But 
I  was  struck  by  one  or  two  things.  You  are  ignorant — 
yes,  you  are  tremendously  ignorant,"  and  the  great 
Ingleby  sucked  in  his  breath  with  a  shocked  look  at 
such  depths  of  ignorance,  "  but  you  have  the  root  of 
the  matter  in  you.  And  never  forget  that,  as  we  say 
in  the  profession,  there  is  room  at  the  top — room  at  the 
top,"  he  repeated,  as  if  those  golden  words  deserved 
it.  Phil  might  have  retorted  that  those  words  are  some- 
times used  by  those  not  in  the  profession,  but  he  was 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  83 

laboring  under  a  sense  of  gratitude  and  pride,  and  the 
great  Ingleb}^  had  undoubtedl}^  the  right  to  talk  rot,  if 
he  pleased.     Who  had  a  better  ? 

He  got  away,  after  accepting  the  same  two  fingers, 
this  time  gloved  smiartly,  and  in  the  corridor  he  scanned 
the  card,  which  ^ave  the  world  the  interesting  infor- 
mation that  the  famous  man  was  a  member  of  the  Savage 
Club,  Adelphi,  London, 

He  sped  away,  and  listened  as  in  a  dream  to  the 
compliments  and  jests  of  his  guests.  His  mother  w>as 
stiffly  affable  to  Polly,  and  pretended  nobly  an  interest 
in  the  Davises,  the  Joneses,  the  Allans  and  several  other 
Eiverina  families  of  which  she  had  never  heard.  She 
made  appropriate  noises  when  informed  of  the  price 
of  stock  in  Deniliquin,  and  in  short  behaved  in  a 
perfectly  charming,  if  vague,  way. 

At  last  they  were  all  gone.  Phil,  in  his  tawdry  finery, 
his  brilliant  painted  cheeks,  his  powdered  hair,  was  able 
to  turn  to  Peter,  who  w^as  murmuring  all  sorts  of  com- 
pliments he  had  overheard  in  the  Hall. 

*' Peter,"  said  Phil,  "I  have  made  up  my  mind  what 
I  want  to  be.     I'm  going  on  the  stage." 

"You're  just  the  one  to  make  a  howling  success,  too," 
said  Peter,  loyally,  but  he  felt  an  overwhelming  dismay. 


End  op  Book  I. 


BOOK  II— KINDLING 


CHAPTER  IX 

"Greeting!     My  hirth-stain  have  I  turned  to  good; 
Forcing  strong  wills  perverse  to  steadfastness; 
The  first  flush  of  the  tropics  in  my  blood. 
And  at  my  feet  Success!" 

— Sydney:    The  Song  or  the  Cities 

PHILIP  LEE  and  two  other  "unimportant  members 
of  a  much-advertised  English  Comedy  Company 
stood  outside  the  gate,  which,  with  its  abominable 
gilt  scroll-work,  and  surmounting  spikes,  hung  ajar  in 
dilapidated  perpetuity. 

"This  is  the  place— No.  231,"  he  said.  ''Now 
Gresham,  it's  up  to  you." 

Gresham,  a  blue-chinned,  unclean-shaven  individual 
of  fifty  battered  winters,  stared  at  the  grim  three-story 
house,  which  stood  on  tip-toe  at  the  head  of  six  dirty 
steps,  while  ten  more  steps,  dirtier  still,  and  holding  the 
accumulations  of  weeks  of  wind-blown  manure  and 
leaves  in  their  corners,  led  down  to  the  unimaginable 
horrors  of  a  bavsement. 

"Laddie,"  he  objected,  with  a  doubtful  head- 
shake,  "it  looks  like  a  thirty  to  me." 

"P'raps  she'll  make  a  reduction  for  wholesale,"  sug- 
gested the  third  member  of  the  party,  a  rather  pretty 
girl,  with  a  humorous  twist  in  her  knowing  red  mouth. 

She  looked  down  the  uninviting  Sydney  street,  where 
long  lines  of  terraced  monstrosities  bad-temperedly 
elbowed  each  other  downhill  to  where  the  shining  harbor 
lay  in  the  hollow. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  85 

"Lord,  if  that  water  wasn't  there,  it  might  be 
Pimlieo,  'stead  of  Sydney." 

Gresham  mounted  the  steps  and  rang.  A  shuddering 
whine  of  loose  wires,  and  a  prolonged  ringing"  of  a 
distant  bell,  rewarded  him.  The  sound  dwindled  to  a 
mournful  tolling  conclusion,  and  a  fierce  little  woman 
opened  the  door.  She  darted  a  suspicious,  appraising 
glance  at  the  caller,  and  flashed  it  on  the  two  waiting 
outside.     Then  it  took  in  their  luggage. 

**Well_?"  she  snapped. 

**Er — in  the  matt:er  of  rooms ,"  began  Gres- 
ham, stepping  forward  with  a  courtly  gesture  that 
swept  his  flopping  felt  hat  from  his  head. 

"No  theatricals!"  said  the  woman.  It  might  pos- 
sibly have  been  a  rebuke  to  the  large  gesture  with  which 
Gresham  hoped  to  ingratiate  himself,  but,  as  she  stepped 
back  and  closed  the  door,  it  was  more  likely  meant  as 
an  intimation  that  no  actors  need  apply. 

Philip's  voice  raced  the  closing  door. 

"Surely  that  is  Mrs.  Bignett  herself,"  he  said,  and 
smiled.  There  may  have  been  women  who  did  not  like 
Philip's  smile.  Mrs.  Bignett  was  not  of  their  number. 
For  her  daily  combats  with  the  predatory  members  of 
the  human  race  she  donned  an  armor  of  spiky  steel, 
but  somewhere  hidden  behind  it  was  a  remnant  of  a 
woman.  The  door  just  failed  to  click,  and  the  fierce 
little  person  opened  it  a  crack, 

*  *  That 's  me, ' '  she  announced ;  *  *  what  of  it  ? " 

"Only  that  we  come  recommended,"  continued  Philip, 
mounting  the  steps,  to  pursue  his  advantage.  "Mr. 
Bert  Leonard — you  remember  Leonard,  Mrs.  Bignett?" 

"Feller  as  tied  himself  int'  knots  at  the  'Aymarket? 
I  remember  'im.    Well?" 

"He  said  to  us,  before  we  left  London — *231  Gipps 
Street,  Potts  Point,  when  you  get  to  Sydney,  and  Mrs. 
Bignett,  the  best  cook,  and  the  best  sort  in  the  city, 
and  tell  her  I  sent  you,  with  my  love.'  And  here  we  are, 
just  off  the  boat,  and  simply  dying  for  a  meal  like  you 
gave  Leonard  the  day  he  sailed.  We've  heard  all 
aibout  it." 


80  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

**  'E  was  a  fair  terror,  was  Bert,"  she  conceded.  The 
door  opened  a  little  wider,  *'But  as  a  general  rule, 
mind  you,  I  don't  take  in  actors — don't  keer  fer  'em." 

Philip  smiled. 

"And  to  speak  strictly,  Mrs.  Bignett,"  he  confided, 
"we're  not  asking  you  to  break  a  rule.  My  friend, 
Mr.  Gresham,  is  no  actor,  believe  me,  and  Miss  Sefton 
aiid  I  are  simply  too  awful  for  words." 

"I'll  show  you  the  rooms;  they  ain't  done  out  to-day, 
but  you  c'n  take  'em  or  leave  'em."  Her  tone  was 
truculent,  but  there  was  a  faint  hint  of  a  concession. 
"Top  floor,  an'  right  at  th'  back,  but  they're  all  I  kin 
do.  I  got  permanent  commercials  in  the  best.  You 
an'  the  lady  married?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

"Oh,  not  a  bit,"  the  girl  hastily  replied. 

"I  said— 'Miss  Sefton,'  "  reminded  Philip. 

"I  heerd  ye,  but  I've  knowed  plenty  stage  'Misses' 
wi'  weddin'  rings  an'  f  am 'lies.  All  right,  on'y  all  I 
ses  is  this — no  tricks.  Leave  your  bags.  If  ye  don't 
take  th'  rooms,  they'll  be  handy  here,  an'  if  ye  do, 
'E'll  carry  'em  up  stairs." 

"And  the  terms?"  asked  Gresham,  the  cautiouvS. 

"Twenty-five,  an'  little  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Bignett, 
defiantly. 

"Splendid,"  approved  Philip,  beaming.  "From  the 
look  of  the  house,  I  should  have  guessed  thirty." 

Somethmg  unusually  warm  throibbed  in  the  landlady's 
bosom,  as  she  led  the  way,  with  staccato  jumps,  upstairs. 
Her  frozen  heart  had  had  a  human  finger  laid  upon  it. 

"Here's  one  room:  I  hopes  ye  like  it,"  she  said 
to  Philip,  adding  immediately,  with  her  defiant  air,  "it's 
a  good  room,  too,  if  it  is  small." 

"This'll  do  me,  Mrs.  Bignett.  By  Jove!  it'll  be  nice 
to  have  a  home  again  after  tossing  for  six  weeks  in  a 
wretched  two  by  four  cabin." 

She  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  her  lips  thin  an  com- 
pressed. He  stood  the  ordeal  well,  and  even  flashed 
another  smile  at  her.  A  pale,  wavering  crinkle  stirred 
the  corners  of  her  lips. 

"Here's  the  other  rooms,"  she  said,  quickly,  leading 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  87 

the  way  round  an  angle  of  the  building.  She  was  aware 
that  for  one  fleeting  second  she  had  lost  her  grip  as  a 
boarding-house  proprietor. 

After  inspection,  they  agreed  to  take  the  rooms,  and 
discussed  final  arrangements  at  the  narrow  stairhead. 
Almost  against  her  will,  Mrs.  Bignett  glanced  at  Philip, 
an  arresting  personality  in  any  group,  but  as  much  out 
of  place  in  this  dingy  refuge  as  the  Antinous  in  a  bar- 
parlor. 

"Got  all  ye  want?"  she  asked,  and  a  faint,  rosy 
tinge  of  cordiality  was  in  her  voice,  like  the  first,  ten- 
tative, green  spike  pushing  its  way  through  a  frozen 
garden-bed. 

"Rather,  and  very  many  thanks,"  Philip  assured  her. 

"Me  terms  is  a  week  in  advance,"  announced  the 
landlady,  crisply,  drawing  her  foot  smartly  back  from 
a  precipice  of  trustfulness,  over  which  Philip 's  smile  had 
nearly  lured  her. 

"Take  this  then,  Mrs.  Bignett."  He  handed  her  a 
five-pound  note.  "Let  the  change  run  on  for  next 
week." 

"Are  you  expeckin'  to  be  'ere  long?"  she  inquired. 

Gresham,  silent  over-long,  ans\\'ered  the  question,  with 
a  grandiloquent  wave  of  the  hand, 

"We  are  the  servants  of  the  public,  dear  lady,"  he 
said,  richly.  "If  our  masters  say  'Stay!'  we  are  fain 
toiobey." 

("Feller  up  ther  torks  po'try  like  a  book,"  Mrs.  Big- 
nett confided  to  her  sister,  with  whom  she  **ran" 
No.  231.) 

"Well,  dinner's  at  one,"  she  instructed  them. 
*'  'E'll  bring  up  yer  traps." 

"Who?"  asked  Philip,  curiously. 

"  'Im.  Me  'uSband,"  she  elucidated.  Later  they 
found  that  this  gentleman,  when  he  parted  from  his 
last  job,  parted  from  his  name.  His  local  habitation 
would  have  followed,  too,  had  not  a  spasm  of  prudential 
pity  induced  his  wife  to  keep  him  for  odd  work.  He 
lived  on  an  island  of  loneliness,  washed  by  exceeding 
bitter  seas.    An  object  of  contempt  to  wife  and  sister- 


88  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

in-law,  a  contagious  emotion  which  communicated  itself 
to  the  boarders,  he  was  boots,  knife-cleaner,  garbage-man, 
messenger-boy,  porter  and  scapegoat  to  the  establish- 
ment. He  was  addressed  as  "You  there!"  and  referred 
to  as  "  'E."  He  ate  in  the  kitchen  of  unwanted  morsels, 
and  expiated,  in  an  underworld  pervaded  by  the  smells 
of  boiled  cabbage,  blacking,  kitchen  scraps  and  rancid 
fats,  a  nature  which  had  once  been  free  enough  to  abhor 
regular  paid  work. 

This  unhappy  soul  presently  staggered  upstairs  with 
the  last  valise  of  the  new  boarders. 

''Thanks,  old  chap,"  Philip  said,  pleasantly,  and 
tossed  him  a  shilling.  A  greasy  hand  caught  it  clumsily, 
pursuing  it  to  a  resting-place  on  a  front  elevation,  draped 
by  a  spotty,  brown  waistcoat,  many  sizes  too  large.  His 
red  eyes  opened  widely,  and  his  ragged,  untidy  moustache 
twitched  with  sudden  emotion. 

* '  Fer  me  ? "  he  asked,  huskily. 

*'0f  course,"  Philip  told  him. 

"Then  not  a  word  to  'er,"  warned  "  'E."  "She's 
a  noly  terror,  that's  wot  she  is."  He  deposited  the  coin, 
with  infinite  slyness,  into  some  Safe  Deposit  in  his 
frayed,  filthy  jacket,  whence  it  would  have  taken  a  per- 
son not  over-particular  to  have  filched  it.  Then,  with 
shuffling  footsteps  he  returned  to  the  obscure  fastness 
where  he  passed  his  joyless  existence. 

It  was  eighteen  months  since  the  great  Ingleby  had 
given  his  fateful  card  to  Philip.  The  defection  of  an 
unimportant  member  of  the  cast  had  given  him  an 
opening,  and  after  the  close  of  the  Australian  season, 
he  had  gone  on  to  South  Africa  and  India  with  the  com- 
pany, being  dismissed  in  London  nine  months  later. 

Terrible  periods  of  "rest"  followed,  interspersed  with 
humiliating  and  scanty  work.  Then  came  a  time  of 
starvation,  quite  in  the  approved  style  of  melodrama. 
The  experience  acted  curiously  on  him.  One  would 
have  thought  that  the  actor's  vocation  was  his  crown- 
ing ambition,  to  achieve  which  he  was  prepared  to 
explore  the  deeps  of  misery. 

The  real  fact  was  that,  up  to  the  very  minute  before 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  89 

the  summons  came  to  him  to  receive  the  distinguished 
Ingleby's  congratulations  the  thought  of  a  stage  career 
had  never  entered  his  mind.  The  excitement  of  a  small 
success,  just  at  the  time  he  was  about  to  choose  some 
outlet  for  his  powers,  had  worked  on  a  clever  youth's 
natural  vanity.  Impulse,  which  ever  had  undue  effect 
in  his  life,  whirled  him  off  his  feet  and  deposited  him 
on  the  stage,  before  he  well  realized  the  fact. 

Then  his  curious  nature  began  to  function  true  to 
its  type.  Quite  in  the  old  way,  he  dramatized  himself. 
He  was  the  famous  actor,  in  a  famous  club,  telling 
with  incomparable  humor  and  lack  of  ''side"  his  expe- 
riences at  the  outset  of  his  career.  As  a  star  of  magni- 
tude, he  rose  in  various  countries,  in  the  inters-als  of 
striking  London  successes.  These  and  companion  pic- 
tures were  ever  before  his  eyes,  and  a  will-power  that 
would  never  acknowledge  itself  beaten,  but  was  resolved 
to  hang  on  till  success  came,  had  its  share  in  making  him 
stick. 

Possibly,  too,  the  lack  of  a  definite  motif  in  life,  and 
the  schoolboy  code  that  bade  the  player  of  a  game  play 
his  damnedest  were  facto-rs  in  his  determination.  In 
a  subconscious  way  there  may  have  been  a  striving  for 
self-expression  going  on  in  his  mind,  and  his  acting  may 
have  been  a  sort  of  groping  towards  an  outlet. 

The  fact  remains  that  the  things  which  generally 
disgust  the  uninitiated  tyro  only  made  him  the  more 
determined  to  wring  success  out  of  an  unpromising 
profession.  Love  for  it  he  had  none,  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  term.  His  fastidious,  cleanly  mind 
felt  spasms  of  distaste  for  some  of  the  circumstances 
with  which  he  was  in  daily  contact.  The  easy  Chris- 
tian names ;  the  cheapness ;  the  tawdriness ;  the  strong 
friendships  that  so  easily  became  enmities  as  strong; 
quarrels  that  sought  the  publicity  of  a  law-court;  the 
disappointment  of  seeing  a  nice,  juicy  little  fat  part 
given  to  an  incompetent  inferior;  the  damning  ineffi- 
ciency of  some  stage  managers;  a  supercilious  leading 
man,  "killing"  a  laugh  that  interfered  with  his  own 
importance;   all  these  things  sickened  him  with  his  job. 


90  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

But  he  held  on  dog-gedly  through  it  all.  Perhaps  the 
other  side  of  the  picture,  the  kindliness  and  generosity  of 
the  stage-folk  to  their  fellows  in  adversity;  the  occa- 
sional small  success,  which  got  a  sudden  round  of  ap- 
plause from  the  mysterious  darkened  house;  the  spas- 
modic jollity  of  the  easy-going  company;  the  amazing 
interest  of  a  new  place  or  a  fresh  play,  before  repetition 
had  staled  it,  all  combined  to  prevent  him  bolting  to 
more  stable  conditions. 

Once,  in  London,  he  touched  bottom.  "Without  a 
"shop,"  in  a  deadly,  dull  season,  when  the  Strand  was 
full  of  prowling  actors  on  the  look-out,  he  was  literally 
without  a  penny.  He  would  have  sold  ribbons,  but  shops 
had  no  need  for  inexperience  when  bad  times  had  put 
even  experience  on  the  streets. 

With  paper  "borrowed"  from  the  O.P.  Club,  to  which 
he  had  been  introduced  a  while  before  by  a  member, 
he  wrote  a  short  story.  In  it  he  imitated  his  favorite 
author  of  the  moment.  He  w^as  disgusted  to  learn  that 
several  London  Editors  did  not  care  for  imitations.  He 
tore  up  the  thing  savagely,  and  scattered  the  pieces  on 
the  dun  water  flo^Anng  past  the  Embankment,  while  bright 
music  and  laughter  fluttered  out  of  the  brilliant  open 
windows  of  the  Cecil  hard  by.  He  watched  the  paper 
turn  a  dirty  yellow  in  the  electric  light,  as  it  slowly 
soaked  up  Thames  water,  and  wondered  dully  whether  it 
wouldn't  be  better  to  accompany  his  story. 

Once  more  he  interviewed  the  great  Ingleby,  who 
shot  off  two  platitudes  and  three  truisms  from  hia 
wonderful  book  just  about  to  be  published — "How  I 
Became  a  Great  Manager,"  and  then  dismissed  him, 
without  even  the  spiritual  comfort  of  one  finger  to  shake. 

A  prostitute,  misled  by  his  unquestionable  air  of  a 
gentleman,  took  him  home  and  fed  him  innocently  when, 
she  found  that  he  was  in  a  worse  plight  than  she.  The 
entire  race  of  prostitutes  was  raised  a  peg  in  his  mind 
thereafter.  Three  days  he  spent  in  her  bed,  in  a  fever 
brought  on  by  inanition ;  and  it  was  from  a  friend  of 
hers  that  he  learned  of  the  fitting  out  of  a  privateering 
expedition  to  Australia — an  English  Comedy  Company, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  91 

headed  by  a  ''Leading  London  Actor,"  who  had  never 
plaj^ed  a  larger  city  than  Birmingham,  and  a  Leading 
Lady  who  had  once  understudied  Mrs.  Pat  Campbell. 
An  unexpected  legacy  made  the  tour  possible.  They 
shared  the  risks  equally  with  the  Australian  theatrical 
firm,  under  whose  auspices  they  were  to  appear.  Cheap- 
ness was  their  watchword.  Their  net  dredged  deep  in 
the  professional  underworld  of  London,  and  luckily 
Philip  was  not  too  deep  to  be  caught.  He  snapped  up 
the  meagre  salary  offered.  The  leading  lady  liked  his 
looks. 

Gresham  was  the  comedian,  an  excellent  laughter- 
maker,  who  had  led  a  tragic  life.  The  souibrette  was 
Mazie  Sefton.  The  priceless  gift  of  Mrs.  Bignett's  ad- 
dress was  Mr.  Leonard's  contribution  to  the  tour  at  a 
"send-off"  in  their  Bloomsbury  boarding-house.  Mr. 
Leonard  was  in  residence  there  in  temporary  single 
state.  A  contortionist,  he  had  entangled  his  heart  in 
the  charms  of  a  fellow-artist,  and  the  version  of  the 
affair,  that  was  even  then  engaging  the  attention  of  the 
Divorce  Court,  was  that  the  lawful  Mrs.  Leonard  had 
come  in  and  discovered  her  erring  husband  with  the  lady ! 
Leonard,  in  an  excess  of  love  and  poetry,  had  tied  him- 
self into  a  true  lover's  knot.  The  story  may  not  be 
true. 

Mazie  fell  in  love  with  Philip,  and  conceived  she 
had  the  right  to  feel  insulted  when,  the  night  before 
they  sailed  Philip  greeted  with  enthusiasm  in  Torring- 
ton  Square  a  lady  who  was  advertising  her  profession 
rather  floridly.  Coldly,  on  an  arid  peak  of  unassail- 
able virtue,  sat  Mazie,  her  laughter-loving  little  mouth 
set  in  bleak,  unforgiving  lines,  while  Philip  explained 
that  the  lady  in  quesition  was  his  rescuer,  and  he  had  to 
say  good-bj^e.  But  there  are  conventions  about  these 
things,  and  Philip  had  outraged  them. 

In  a  natural,  human  way  that  Philip  had  not  the 
heart  to  rebuff,  Gresham  gravitated  to  him.  A  serious 
figure  of  a  man,  with  a  stage  courtliness  picked  up  from 
the  gods  of  the  last  generation,  when  an  actor  could  not 
ask  for  a  match  except  in  blank  verse,  he  kept  his  humor 


92  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

for  professional  purposes  only,  and  truly  believed  that 
jokes  were  solemn  things  whose  bouquet  could  only 
be  savored  over  footlights,  with  the  odor  of  size  and 
stale  cigar-smoke  to  create  an  atmosphere,  just  as  cham- 
pagne out  of  a  tumbler  is  as  insipid  as  ginger-ale. 

He  had  an  infernal  habit  that  tried  Philip  extremely. 
He  would  take  the  end  of  his  long,  aquiline  nose  in  a 
tobacco-stained  forefinger  and  thumb,  and  wring  a  drop 
of  moisture  from  that  suffering  organ  with  a  torturing 
twist  of  the  fingers.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  telling 
Philip  that  his  line  was  funny  without  being  vulgar. 
He  perhaps  thought  it  only  just,  when  off  the  stage,  to 
be  vulgar  without  being  funny. 

They  traveled  second-class,  with  the  exception  of  the 
two  stars.  Ten  other  members  of  "an  exclusive  London 
cast,  engaged  at  enormous  expense  to  present  the  over- 
whelming English  success,  *A  Night  with  James,'  " 
traveled  with  them.  Had  the  boat  gone  down,  not  a 
ripple  would  have  wrinkled  the  theatrical  pool  of  London. 
Still,  that  is  how  advertising  and  publicity  men  speak. 
"Worse  still,  it  is  even  how  they  think. 

And  now,  behold  them  arrived,  drifting  off  to  the 
cheap  boarding-houses  of  Potts  Point,  whence  they 
travel  by  tram  each  morning  to  rehearsal.  * 'Calls'* 
were  constant,  only  a  week  being  left  before  the  opening, 
to  bring  to  perfection  what  had  been  commenced  by 
rehearsals  in  London. 

The  First  Night  came  and  went.  The  leading  man 
did  not  get  ill,  and  Philip  was  not  asked  to  take  his 
place  at  a  moment's  notice,  the  papers  next  morning 
ringing  with  his  praise.  How  often  he  had  visualized 
that  splendid  possibility!  The  notices  wore  uniformly 
laudatory.  In  most  countries  theatrical  criticism  is  per- 
functory, a  reflex  of  the  advertising  given  to  the  papers. 
It  is  the  Commercial  Editor  who  really  conditions  the 
Art  criticism.  In  Australia,  there  are  few  exceptions 
to  the  rule. 

Philip  and  some  of  the  other  members  of  the  com- 
pany were  made  honorary  members  of  the  Greenroom 
Club.     Here  he  wrote  his  few  letters,  and  spent  an  hour 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  93 

after  the  show.  Here,  too,  he  learned  some  facts  about 
the  theatrical  world  he  was  entering  from  Stines,  an, 
explosive,  dynamic  person  who  was  an  actor  not  in 
favor  with  the  leading  employing  firms.  Chronically 
dissatisfied,  eternally  harping  back  to  the  last  genera- 
tion, as  the  ideal  in  his  Art,  as  he  called  it,  he  had  con- 
stituted himself  a  walking  delegate,  never  so  happy  as 
when  he  had  emibroiled  a  team  with  the  management. 
Philip  listened  to  him  with  amusement,  and  noted  from 
the  smiles  of  the  listeners  that  Stines  need  not  be  taken 
too  seriously. 

"The  theater!"  he  snorted,  contemptuously.  "Don't 
talk  to  me  about  the  theater  in  Australia, ' ' 

"Pretty  good  shows,  Stines,  whatever  you  may  say. 
I've  seen  plenty  of  plays  put  on  here  just  as  well  as 
they  do  it  on  the  other  side.  And  you  can't  say  you 
don't  get  the  best." 

"Suppose  we  do,  what  the  hell's  that  got  to  do  with 
the  price  of  eggs?  "We  want  more  competition.  Here 
we  have  three  firms  that  simply  have  the  Australian 
public  in  a  bag.  Call  that  competition?  I  tell  you 
we  had  better  shows  in  the  old  mining  'forties  than 
you're  getting  now.  Old  Brookes  and  dear  old  Coppin 
did  give  us  the  stuff.  Now  the  poor  public  is  fed  with 
blasted  revues,  and  they're  told  by  every  publicity  man 
that  they  must  like  it  because  the  London  public  eat  it 
up,  and  Broadway  has  gone  crazy  over  it.  London! 
London's  the  easiest  public  to  gull  in  the  world.  And 
Broadway !  I  've  seen  shows  applauded  there  that  would 
have  got  the  bird  in  Dead  Dog  Diggings." 

He  gave  a  snarl  of  disgust.  Another  man  gave  him 
a  lead. 

"You  can't  growl  if  you  get  the  best  there  is,"  he 
said. 

"What  do  we  get?"  Stines  shouted.^  "If  a  feller 
has  a  good  show  abroad  and  wants  to  bring  it  in  here, 
what  chance  has  he  got  unless  he  stands  in  with  Masters, 
or  with  M.  J,  Field?  Just  let  him  try  it.  He  wouldn't 
even  get  a  theater.  What's  that  old  tag  about  the  gods 
sending  a  chap  potty  before  they  out  him  for  good? 


94.  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

That's  what  would  happen  to  an  independent  showman 
iere.     Trusts!     Trusts!" 

"But  if  they  bring  you  shows  from  the  other  side, 
what  kick  have  you  got,  old  man?"  someone  asked. 

**How  the  hell  are  we  goin'  to  develop  a  theatrical 
art  of  our  own  if  we're  always  fobbed  off  with  tripe 
that's  only  good  enough  to  please  the  half -educated 
public  the  London  Board  Schools  turn  out?"  the  fiery 
objector  exploded.  *'We  can't  even  produce  here.  AVe 
import  the  whole  show,  from  the  company  and  producer 
to  the  damnation  chalk-marks  on  the  stage,  in  case  ?ome 
super  steps  six  inches  nearer  to  the  footlights  than  was 
done  in  New  York.  It's  atrophy,  that  what  it  is, 
atrophy,"  he  repeated,  delighted  at  having  got  hold  of  a 
new  word.  "Like  a  monkey  refusin'  to  use  his  tail  so 
long  that  he  finally  wakes  up  an'  finds  his  descendants 
haven't  got  any.     Atrophy.     Ask  Herbert  Spencer." 

The  play  was  a  success,  and  this  wag  not  without 
its  effeet.  It  gave  Philip  freedom  from  daily  rehear- 
sals, and  a  leisure  that  he  utilized  in  exploring  the  city 
and  the  harbor,  whose  bewildering  quality  it  is  that 
you  may  find  fresh  beauty-spots  after  a  month  of  enjoy- 
ment, each  new  discovery  more  enthralling  than  the  last. 

The  picturesque  bullock-tracks  of  old  Sydney,  which 
have  with  slip-shod  lack  of  planning  grown  into  nar- 
row canons  of  streets,  each  teeming  with  cosmopolitan 
life,  were  a  never-failing  stimulus  to  him.  Sydney  is 
the  Capital  of  the  South  Seas,  a  nodule  in  which  is 
concentrated  many  strings  of  traffic  from  all  parts  of 
the  globe.  On  Circular  Quay,  where  the  myriads  of 
electric  trams  shuttle  backwards  and  forwards  intri- 
cately; to  whose  immense  wharves  the  commerce  of 
many  oceans  comes,  he  feasted  mind  and  eyes  on  many 
things  which  w^ere  to  stay  with  him  and  influence  the 
texture  of  his  thought.  He  w^andered  on  to  Island  boats, 
smelling  of  exotic  archipelagoes,  where  spices  scent  the 
air;  where  strange,  dusky  beauty  haunts  cocoanut 
groves  with  gleaming,  elusive  glimpses  of  flashing 
bronze  limbs;  where  white-clad,  pith-helmeted  masters 
drink   cold   decoctions,   on   wide,   airy  verandahs.     He 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  95 

watched  the  -unloading  of  Japanese  mailboats,  whereon 
the  sight  of  the  tiny,  lithe,  brown  men  called  up  visions 
of  temple  bells  at  sunrise,  of  cherry-blossom  in  a  flush 
of  beauty,  of  Fujiyama,  slowly  reddening  to  crimson 
glory  in  the  dying  fires  of  the  sun  and  fading  back  to 
cold,  white  purity.  American  liners  disgorged  pell-mell, 
sophisticated,  curious,  impatient  crowds  of  people  in  a 
hurry,  smartly  gowned  as  to  the  women,  caricatures  of 
a  tailor's  nightmare  as  to  the  men,  incisive  of  speech, 
and  outdoing  the  "chiel'  "  in  "takin'  notes." 

All  this  filled  his  mind  with  a  romantic  glow.  The 
real  *'cacoethes  scribeyidi"  began  its  pleasant  torture 
at  this  period.  He  had  forgotten,  or  ignored,  the  fate 
of  his  first  story.  He  read  voraciously,  a  pocket  edition 
of  some  sort  or  other  being  always  with  him. 

His  taste  was  catholic.  Borrow 's  "Lavengro"  one 
day  would  give  place  to  an  abominable  translation  of 
one  of  Guy  de  Maupassant's  stories  the  next.  This 
latter  he  pitched  into  the  harbor.  Afterwards  he  found 
that  it  was  the  translator,  pandering  to  a  debased  taste, 
who  should  have  been  so  treated.  In  the  original  he 
jcould  not  recognize  the  carefully  selected  filth  of  the 
so-called  copy.  Kabelais  he  could  not  endure.  Its 
greatness  he  could  not  understand.  His  innate  fastidi- 
ousness, which  would  not  admit  certain  things  even  to 
itself,  revolted  at  the  plain  speech  of  the  old  doctor. 
George  Eliot,  Jane  Austen  and  rollicking  old  Tobias 
Smollett  he  thoroughly  enjoyed.  Curiously  enough,,' 
there  were  parts  of  "Tom  Jones"  he  didn't  like,  and 
Sterne  disgusted  him.  Casanova,  a  rare  copy  of  whose 
memoirs  he  picked  up  at  a  bookstall,  made  him  shout 
with  laughter.  Something  in  him  reached  out  friendly 
fingers  to  the  old  rascal,  pathetically  re-living  his 
scandalous,  joyous  life  over  again,  striving  with  the 
pen  to  re-capture  *  *  the  first,  fine  careless  rapture. ' '  But, 
save  in  the  abstract,  sex  had  as  yet  little  appeal  to  him. 
He  read,  and  he  stared,  and  he  thought,  and  if  you  had 
asked  him  his  ambition,  he  would  have  replied  that  to 
be  a  leading  man  in  a  good  company  was  good  enough 
for  him.     He  was  twenty-five  years  old. 


CHAPTER  X 

"If  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the  hoof  slide  is  scarred, 
on  the  course, 
Though    Allah    and    Earth    pardon    Sin,    remaineth    for    ever 
Bemorse. ' ' 

— Ceetain  Maxims  or  Hatix 

MAZIE  SEFTON  was  one  of  that  numerous  class 
of  women,  who  are  perfectly  natural  in  their 
emotions  of  sex.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  edu- 
cation that  warps  a  child's  real  nature,  twists  the  truth 
of  sex  knowledge,  and  holds  up  as  beastly  a  fundamental 
element  in  men  and  women,  which  is  as  beautiful  and 
seemly  as  the  flight  of  birds  South. 

Ninety  per  cent  of  boys  and  girls  are,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  brought  up  to  believe  that  marriage  is 
an  inherent  indecency  for  which  a  permit  is  required 
for  a  purpose  that  must  never  be  spoken  of.  But 
what  must  never  be  spoken  of  must  quite  often  be 
thought  about.  When  secrecy  attends  all  the  rites  of 
marriage,  except  the  one  that  launches  it  on  a  privily 
sniggering  world,  curiosity  is  sure  to  be  unhealthily 
stimulated. 

To  Mazie,  however,  the  mysteries  of  sex  were  no 
mysteries.  She  had  grown  up  in  healthy  knowledge 
of  facts.  For  her  no  prying  and  peering,  no  whisper- 
ing and  giggling  had  been  necessary,  and  as  a  result  her 
mind  was  a  hundred  times  cleaner  and  more  sane  than 
those  of  thousands  of  her  sisters,  who  had  lived  what 
is  called  a  sheltered  life.  She  knew  men,  she  considered. 
Perhaps  she  did.  Girls  in  her  situation  have  sources 
of  knowledge  denied  to  others.  Her  creed  was  "All 
men  are  rotters  1"  It  would  surprise  men  to  find  that 
most  chorus  girls  and  their  kind,  who  have  opportunities 

96 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  97 

for  judging,  have  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion.  They 
act,  as  Mazie  acted,  on  the  assumption  that  men  are 
guilty  till  they  are  proved  innocent. 

Such  girls  often  form,  for  all  their  wisdom,  the  most 
unfortunate  connections.  They  are  hurried,  sometimes 
by  emotion,  sometimes  by  dire  necessity,  the  will-to-live, 
into  bohemian  alliances  with  "friends."  They  are  alone 
in  the  world;  the  problem  is  often  put  with  brutal 
directness  to  their  minds.  It's  a  chance.  If  it  fails, 
they  hurt  no  one  but  themselves. 

Mazie  thought  with  contempt  of  the  silly,  soppy 
fools  that  give  to  rotters  of  men  such  a  tremendous 
gift  for  nothing.  Till  she  met  Philip,  she  had  held 
her  emotions  in  with  a  tight  rein.  Supper  after  the 
show  was  one  thing ;  a  girl  had  to  see  that  some  fellow 
got  her  meals  at  least  once  a  day.  The  salary  wouldn't 
run  to  it,  unless  it  were  eked  out  by  such  means.  But 
catch  her  paying  for  it.  Oh,  no,  not  this  little  girl! 
She  laughed  at  entreaties,  raged  when  "fellows" 
"pulled  her  about,"  and  was  not  above  hitting  smartly 
with  her  peggy-bag,  if  they  went  too  far. 

An  adventuress?  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Until  the 
world  is  made  over  again,  with  a  share  for  all,  some 
women  must  adventure  to  live  at  all. 

With  the  coming  of  Philip  into  her  life,  she  experi- 
enced a  change  of  thought.  She  fell  in  love  with  his 
good  looks,  his  courage,  his  pleasant  manners,  which 
were  the  same  to  her  as  to  a  queen.  How  could  she 
help  but  love  him?  She  would  have  counted  herself 
the  happiest  women  in  the  world  if  she  had  been  mar- 
ried to  him.  Hardships  they  would  have  laughed  at. 
But  she  had  no  illusions.  Gentlemen  did  not  marry 
her  sort,  unless  they  were  the  kind  that  hung  around 
the  stage-door,  half -screwed.  She  didn't  want  that  style, 
thank  you.     Not  for  Mazie. 

But,  if  Philip  could  be  made  to  love  her,  perhaps  as 
long  as  they  were  working  together  they  could  be  pals, 
and  get  a  flat.  It  wouldn't  cost  more  than  boarding. 
With  the  directness  of  the  female  of  the  species,  living 
under  natural  laws,  she  began  to  allure.     She  calculated 


98  THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

the  effect  of  a  dress,  a  stocking,  an  ankle.  Your  good 
woman  may  sneer,  but  without  the  honest  directness 
of  Mazie,  her  methods  are  the  same.  More  elusive, 
more  subtle,  she  yet  studies  the  whole  art  of  allure. 
Woman's  dress,  her  powder,  her  salve,  her  backward 
glances  are  all  in  the  last  analysis  part  of  the  eternal 
game  of  *'come-and-catch-me."  The  only  difference  is 
that  in  the  case  of  Mazie  Sefton  she  had  to  work  fast, 
and  that  cost  her  something  in  subtlety. 

Philip  wag  unconscious  of  her  broadest  effects.  An 
athlete,  keen  on  keeping  fit,  walking  miles  every  day, 
with  a  mind  active,  and  kept  sweet  by  good  reading, 
he  was  little  likely  to  return  the  passion  of  the  igno- 
rant, crude,  little  wild-flower  who  had  only  one  thing 
to  offer  to  his  manhood. 

The  game  went  on,  and  looked  hopeless  for  Mazie. 
Then,  one  night  at  the  theater,  a  man  waited  for  her 
— a  creature  of  the  front  stalls,  a  creeping,  crawling 
thing  that  made  war  on  girls  of  the  stage,  in  the  mis- 
taken belief  that  they  were  all  immoral.  Mazie  resisted 
him,  "told  him  off  proper,"  but  he  seized  her  arm. 
Possibly,  by  some  misadventure,  he  nipped  her  flesh 
in  his  ring.     She  called  out — a  tiny  scream. 

Unfortunately,  Philip  was  coming  out  of  the  door. 
The  little  cry  of  distress  reached  him.  He  took  in 
the  situation,  and  assumed  the  most  damnably  dan- 
gerous position  on  earth;   he  became  a  knight-errant. 

It  wasn't  a  fight.  It  was  a  debacle.  Mazie  had 
nothing  to  be  really  grateful  for.  The  cur,  after  his 
kind,  would  have  scampered  off,  anyway.  But  woman 
loves  to  be  protected.  She  thrills  to  the  male  who 
fights  for  her.  Instead  of  going  off  to  his  club,  Philip, 
privately  bored,  took  her  home  on  the  tram. 

The  next  night  she  pretended  to  be  frightened.  One 
word,  and  he  took  her  home  as  before.  He  remained, 
while  she  turned  on  the  gas  in  her  room. 

*'Come  on  in,"  she  invited,  *'and  have  a  yarn." 

"Too  sleepy,  old  girl,"  he  replied,  and  yawned  a 
good-night. 

She  was  under  no  illusion  as  to  his  feelings,  but  she 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT  99 

thought  that,  with  the  gift  she  could  give  him,  love 
would  come.  She  could  not  know  that,  if  it  is  not  there 
at  the  time,  it  never  comes  later. 

Then,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he  grew  a  little  seedy. 
For  two  nights  he  was  out  of  the  cast.  She  nursed 
him  in  the  day-time,  and  after  the  show  she  would  run 
in  and  tell  him  the  commonplaces  of  the  theater.  It 
even  ran  to  some  fruit  the  second  night.  He  scolded 
her.  She  glowed.  He  would  have  been  a  coxcomb  not 
to  have  known  he  had  made  a  conquest.  Twenty-five 
may  have  unsuspected  resistant  powers,  but  the  cal- 
culation of  chances  would  always  run  against  persistence. 

The  illness  left  him  with  a  legacy  of  insomnia.  He 
lit  the  gas,  and  read.  A  light-well  separated  his  room 
from  Mazie's.  His  light  had  hardly  flashed  on  before 
she  had  her  head  out  of  the  window. 

** Anything  wrong,  Phil?"  she  whispered,  across  the 
six-foot  chasm. 

"No,  it's  all  right.  I  jusit  can't  sleep,"  he  called, 
softly.  "Go  back  to  bed.  You'll  get  your  death  of 
cold." 

She  went  obediently  back.     Next  day,  she  said : 

"I  say,  what's  the  use  of  your  lying  there  feeling 
blue,  when  I  could  slip  in  and  yarn  to  you?" 

He  scolded  her,  but  the  idea  sounded  attractive.  The 
hours  were  long. 

"Anyway,  say  what  you  like,  I'm  coming  in  next 
time  you  turn  your  light  on,"  she  warned  him. 

For  three  nights  he  lay,  tossing  in  the  dark.  The 
thought  of  her,  sweet  and  white,  came  to  him,  a  very 
real  temptation.  What  a  dear  kid  she  was!  She'd 
looked  after  him  so  well.  They  were  bohemians  any- 
way. Scores  of  people  were  a  law  unto  themselves. 
Besides,  they  need  only  pow-wow.  P'raps,  it  would 
make  him  sleepy. 

A  week's  inaction  had  lowered  his  power  of  fight- 
ing the  insidious  suggestion.  His  sexual  experiences 
had  been  only  mental  hitherto,  kept  to  himself  by  the 
foolish  practice  of  society  in  forbidding  frank  discussion 
on  any  topic  bordering  on  what  it  persists  in  regarding 


100         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

as  indecent.  An  hour's  freedom  in  which  to  unburden 
himself  to  some  understanding  person  would  have  re- 
vealed to  him  things  which  would  have  enabled  him  to 
smile  in  the  darkness  at  the  pathetic  attempts  of  this 
girl  to  tie  him  to  her,  to  shrug  indifferent  shoulders,  and 
possibly  to  drop  off  into  dreamless  sleep. 

As  it  was,  he  argued  with  himself.  Then  he  drew 
the  clothes  about  his  ears,  with  a  gesture  meant  to  be 
final. 

''Confound  the  thing,  what  a  bounder  and  cad  I'd 
be!"  he  thought. 

He  counted  sheep.  He  went  over  his  part  in  the 
new  play.  It  was  no  use.  His  vanity  thrilled  to 
the  thought  that  Mazie  was  probably  lying  awake  in 
the  darkness,  just  as  he  was.  He  began  to  wonder  if  she 
were. 

"I  could  easily  see,  but  I'm  damned  if  I  will,"  he 
thought,  again,  and  considered  that  he  had  settled  the 
matter. 

•  A  short  half-minute  later,  he  sprang  up  and  lit  the 
gas. 

It  lasted  less  than  a  week.  A  tender  gratitude  to 
the  girl  who  had  proved  so  much  love  made  for  him 
almost  an  illusion  of  the  real  thing.  He  seemed  to  have 
attained  his  manhood.  His  gestures  took  on  greater 
assurance,  a  wider  freedom;  he  walked  as  one  who 
walks  with  kings.  Privately  he  wondered  that  people 
did  not  read  in  his  eyes  of  his  graduation  in  manhood. 
"What  would  Peter  say  ?  It  was  the  thought  of  Peter  that 
marked  the  decline  of  the  brief  romance,  which  was  only 
a  poetizing  of  the  senses.  Peter's  clear,  honest  eyes  sud- 
denly came  before  him  in  a  flood  of  painfully  clear 
recollection. 

Peter  would  be  incapable  of  furtive  visits,  along  dingy- 
lodging-house  corridors.  Philip  flushed.  He  experi- 
enced the  loathing  that  comes  with  satiety,  where  no 
love  is.  He  felt  the  bitterness  of  realizing  the  weakness 
that  surrenders  to  the  first  real  attack.  How  often  had 
he  overheard  the  recital  in  dressing-rooms  of  episodes  no 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         101 

more  unsavory  than  this,  and  crawled  with  disgust  at 
the  thought!  He  had  prided  himself  on  his  freedom 
frottn  ''all  that  sort  of  thing,"  not  reflecting  that  no 
credit  can  be  taken  for  freedom  from  temptation.  Fas- 
tidiousness had  been  his  buckler.  Sordidncss  revolted 
him  like  a  bad  smell.  Commonness  was  a  vile  thing  like 
the  touch  of  unclean  garments. 

He  sought  and  told  Mazie  his  whole  thought,  with 
marvelous  innocence  expecting  her  to  rise  to  his  heights, 
which  were  only  scaled  under  the  impetus  of  satiety 
and  aroused  fastidiousness.  He  mentioned  the  hateful- 
ness  of  slinking  along  corridors.    On  that  she  fastened. 

"We  can  easily  get  a  room  together,"  she  soothed  him. 

**But  I  don't  love  you,  old  girl,  and  the  whole  thing's 
too  beastly  for  words."  He  cut  her,  and  cut  her  deep. 
But  she  was  cured,  after  the  wound  had  healed.  She 
uttered  a  pathetic  hope  for  the  future. 

"Never  in  the  wide  world,"  shuddered  young  Gala- 
had; "I've  finished  with  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Some 
day  I  'm  going  to  marry,  and  I  want  to  be  fairly  decent, 
you  know." 

She  flamed  into  jealousy. 

"Who  is  she?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know,"  Philip  said;  "but  somewhere  there 
is  a  woman  I  will  marry — miles  above  me  in  character — 
beautiful,  of  course;  but  that  doesn't  matter  like  her 
strength.  She'll  be  strong  enough  for  us  both.  I'm 
going  to  do  big  things  just  for  her." 

Poor  Philip !  The  first  time  a  man  has  to  make  the 
humiliating  confession  to  himself  that  he  is  weak,  and 
needs  another's  strength,  is  a  bitter  occasion. 

The  experience  was  over.  Mazie  took  refuge  in 
offended  dignity.  But  she  never  attempted  to  reopen 
the  incident.  Philip  suffered  a  bit,  but  his  hurts  w^ere 
tempered  by  the  unexpected  acceptance  of  an  essay  he 
had  written  for  a  literary  monthly. 

He  was  a  stylist.  He  had  a  conception  of  the  art  of 
writing  that  w^a  more  in  accord  with  the  French  yre- 
cieuses,  than  modern  literature.  He  would  spend  an  hour 
at  a  time  in  manicuring  his  sentences,  packing  meaning 


lOa         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

into  words,  snipping  out  a  redundancy  there,  polishing 
a  phrase  here.  An  adjective  was  rejected,  unless  he 
could  compress  into  its  compass  a  whole  paragraph. 
It  was  a  style  that  had  as  much  chance  of  normal  sale 
as  green  moon  cheese  has  of  becoming  a  marketable 
commodity,  but  it  nevertheless  possessed  a  distinction 
that  marked  it  off  from  much  current  Australian  litera- 
ture. The  Editor  of  "The  Oracle"  accepted  it.  He  was 
of  the  old  school,  and  loved  to  examine  his  reading  with 
a  pickaxe. 

Flushed  with  success,  he  tried  another  of  the  same 
genre.  Unwilling  to  wait  for  a  month,  he  sent  this  to 
a  flippant,  clever  weekly — "The  Arrow."  A  feature  of 
this  paper  is  its  shattering,  de\'astating  "Answers  to 
Correspondents ' '  column.  A  week  later,  over  his  initials, 
Philip  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  the  following  gentle, 
helpful  criticism : — 

"We  regrest  to  inform  P.P.L.  that  he  died  a 
great  many  years  ago.  We  have  buried  the  bit  of 
him  that  came  to  this  office,  in  the  W.P.B.,  the 
obsequies  being  presided  over  by  the  office  cat.  We 
advise  him  to  (  omplete  the  joib." 

With  an  earnestnes:;  that  he  always  brought  to  appar- 
ently failing  causes,  Philip  altered  his  ponderous  style 
to  one  a  little  less  portentous,  but  which  still  had  the 
flavor  of  dried  pemmican  about  it,  and  sent  the  same 
Editor  another  sketch. 

Its  point  was  serious,  its  theme  slightly  ethical.  It 
was  published,  but  its  balanced  periods  were  cut  abomin- 
ably; its  glowing  words  exchanged  for  the  most  banal 
Australian  slang ;  the  whole  spirit  subtly  altered,  and  a 
flippant,  pagan  air  put  in  its  place.  It  was  a  diabolical 
piece  of  cleverness,  an  outrageous  liberty,  and  it  culmin- 
ated in  a  surprise  ending  that  made  a  jest  of  the  thing 
that  formed  the  main  theme.  A  check  was  sent  him  for 
the  contribution. 

He  never  forgave  editor  or  paper.  A  bitterness  quite 
unreasonable  sprang  up  against  anyone  who  habitually 
wrote  for  it,  and  he  was  wont  to  refer  to  it  later  as 
"the  worst  influence  in  Australian  literature."    As  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        103 

paper  prides  itself  on  the  creation  of  an  Australian 
literature,  it  may  be  considered  that  honors  were  easy. 

If  success  was  small,  the  exercise  was  good,  and  Philip 's 
mind  was  definitely  turned  to  writing.  It  was  some 
time  before  the  direction  of  his  bent  was  defined.  It 
dissipated  itself  in  desultory  attempts,  while  it  was  test- 
ing itself,  so  to  speak.  An  opportunity  came,  that 
imparted  a  more  restricted  impetus. 

"A  Night  with  James"  was  taken  off.  A  piece  was 
put  on  which  had  dramatic  force,  a  fair  amount  of  bright 
dialogue,^  and  good  parts  for  the  principals.  It  was 
hailed  with  delight  by  the  Commercial  Editor's  agents, 
but,  even  with  this  enlightened  commendation,  it  did 
not  draw  the  public.  Nothing  definite  could  be  pointed 
out  as  the  cause  of  its  failure,  but  it  held  the  audience 
just  for  the  first  two  acts.  Then  began  the  coughing, 
shufiling,  and  blowing  of  noses  that  every  actor  recognizes 
as  a  sure  sign  that  a  play  has  ceased  to  "get  across." 

Philip 's  part  was  small.  He  was  free  after  the  Second 
Act,  and  generally  went  off  to  the  Club.  There  he  heard 
the  play  denounced  in  general  terms,  condemned  with 
that  hard-worked  adjective  "rotten."  The  following 
night  he  went  round  to  the  stage  box,  and  sat  down. 
The  Second  Act  was  just  ending.  The  house  was '  *  thin, ' ' 
but,  to  that  point,  appreciative. 

The  Third  Act  began.  So  did  the  shuffling.  Suddenly 
Philip  sat  up.  Laughter  that  had  been  continuous  had 
dried  up.  Why?  There  must  be  a  reason.  He  brought 
a  fresh  mind  to  bear  on  the  problem,  instead  of  his  usual 
one,  jaded  by  rehearsals  and  repetitions. 

He  went  round  to  the  manager  in  the  box-office. 

"Mr.  Morrison,"  he  said,  "I  know  what's  the  matter 
with  that  play." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Morrison,  gloomily.  "It's  damn  bad, 
otherwise  it 's  all  right.    Take  out  the  plot,  the  dialogue, 

and  you  6 awful  actors,  and  it'd  be  all  right.    It's 

bad,  laddie,  it's  bad." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it — at  least,"  Philip  corrected  himself, 
"only  a  bit  of  it." 

"That  bit's  quite  enough  for  us,  my  gay  bucko,"  the 


104         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

manager  said,  "If  the  public  won't  come,  the  play '3 
bad.  That's  my  maxim,  and  it  goes,  even  with  William 
Q.  Shakespeare,"  he  ended,  emphatically,  his  voice  tak- 
ing on  the  crisp  accents  of  his  native  village, 

"It's  the  Third  Act,"  announced  Philip.  "The 
trouble  is  that  the  play  finishes  long  before  it 's  over.  It 
ends  at  the  Second,  The  audience  might  as  well  go 
home  then,  but  you  won't  let  'em,  and  they  resent 
it," 

Morrison  looked  at  him  without  speaking.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  cashier,  Maxby, 

' '  You  hear  that,  George  ? "  he  asked, 

"It  sounds  good  horse  sense  to  me,"  said  Maxby, 

"You've  said  a  mouthful  when  you've  said  that.  It 
sounds  good  sense  to  me,  too.  But  it  don't  get  us  out 
of  the  hole.  It  may  be  nice  to  know  you're  ten  miles 
out  on  a  lonely  road  with  a  balky  horse,  an'  it's  a  real 
pleasure  to  find  a  stranger  weighing  in  with  the  informa- 
tion that  what's  wrong  with  the  animal  is  that  he's 
balky,  but  you  ain't  any  nearer  home.  The  only  thing 
to  do  with  that  play  is  to  end  it  just  before  the  begin- 
ing  of  the  First  Act," 

"Look  here,  what's  wrong  with  my  tinkering  with  it, 
and  putting  it  right?"  Philip  asked, 

"My  dear  chap,  you  can  do  it  with  Shakespeare,  You 
might  even  do  it  with — what's  that  feller  who  wrote 
*The  Rivals'?  Oh,  damn  it,  and  I  produced  it  once — 
Galsworthy,  You  can  do  it  to  them.  They're  dead,  and 
they  can't  kick.  You  could  re-write  'Hamlet'  as  a  farce- 
comedy  and  get  away  with  it,  but  you  just  try  dotting 
an  'i'  of  a  modern  play.  The  author '11  set  a  lawyer 
on  you  first  thing  you  know,  Bernard  Shaw  killed  a 
feller  once  for  saying  *of'  instead  of  'for,'  " 

"Why  not  let  'em  kick?"  inquired  Philip.  "Do  you 
stage  these  shows  to  help  them  or  yourself?  How  will 
the  man  ever  hear  of  what  we  do?" 

"By  the  living  Jingo,  I  think  the  kid's  right,''  shouted 
Morrison,  eating  his  cigar  more  rapidly,  in  his  excite- 
ment.   He  touched  a  bell.    A  boy  appeared. 

"Ask  Mr,  Mason  to  come  here,"  he  barked.     You 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         105 

always  bark  at  underlings  in  a  theatre.  It  shows  who's 
the  boss. 

In  due  time  Mason,  the  leading  man,  appeared. 

"Mason,  this  show  is  bum  as  it  is.  We're  going  to 
scare  it  up  a  bit.    What  think?" 

"My  part  goes  well,"  said  Mason. 

"Your  part!  Oh,  hell!"  growled  Morrison.  "This 
ain't  a  question  of  your  part.  It's  a  question  of  every- 
body's meal  tickets.  You  got  an  interest  in  the  invest- 
ment, an'  it's  only  fair  you  should  be  asked  your  opinion. 
But  don't  talk  about  your  part." 

"Well,  I  won't  agree  to ,"  he  began. 

"Who's  asking  what  you  agree?  You'll  be  told  what 
you're  to  do.  Tell  him,"  he  ordered  Philip,  and  turned 
away  in  disgust. 

Philip  explained. 

"The  whole  crisis  takes  place  too  early,"  he  said. 
"If  the  tension  were  kept  up,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the 
Second  Act  the  audience  did  not  know  you  were  to  be 
forgiven  by  Miss  Rolfe,  they  would  be  more  interested 
in  Act  Three.  If  a  bit  were  written  in,  and  the  recon- 
ciliation kept  for  the  final  curtain,  the  play  wouldn't 
end  till  then.  See  what  I  mean?  We  could  keep  the 
Second  Act  *tag'  for  the  end.  The  effect  would  be  miles 
better." 

Mason  chewed  it  over. 

"Yes.  It  certainly  would  give  me  a  big  puncb  at  the 
last  curtain.  But  Thorpe  would  throw  a  fit,"  he  said 
at  length.    Thorpe  was  the  author. 

"Never  knew  a  more  convenient  place  for  a  fit  than 
a  lump  of  dirt  thirteen  thousand  miles  awaj^"  growled 
Morrison.  "We  should  worry  about  Thorpe.  You  an' 
Miss  Rolfe '11  be  throwing  a  fit  clean  out  of  your  con- 
tracts if  you  can't  get  this  damn  stuff  across  better 'n 
you've  bin  doin'." 

"And  who  will  make  the  alteration?"  demanded 
Mason. 

"I  will,"  declared  Philip. 

"Well,  we  can  but  try,"  agreed  the  actor,  gloomily, 
"though  my  part  must  not  be  altered  in  essentials." 


106        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Get  to  it,  Kiddo,"  commanded  Morrison ;  ''let's  have 
it  to-morrow.    Here's  the  script." 

A  manager  would  have  wanted  "Hamlet"  two  days 
after  it  was  begun. 

Philip's  version  was  rehearsed. 

The  result  was  satisfactory.  The  coughing  ceased; 
people  talked,  attendances  increased,  and  Morrison 
beamed.  He  paid  Philip  fifteen  shillings  extra  next 
Treasury.    Sometimes  Art  needs  a  Trades-union. 

The  immediate  effect  on  Philip  was  to  turn  his  facile 
mind  to  play-writing.  The  unique  experience  of  hear- 
ing others  repeat  words  he  himself  had  penned,  and  an 
audience  laugh  at  jokes  he  had  invented,  was  delicious. 
He  visioned  characters  who  would  utter  the  thoughts 
that  came  crowding  into  his  mind,  and  in  that  fertile 
time  between  waking  and  speaking  he  fashioned  brilliant 
epigrams  that  sparkled  delightfully,  but  eluded  his 
memory  by  morning.  That  is  the  hour  when  our  best 
speeches  are  made,  when  we  think  of  a  phrase  of  repartee 
that  would  have  shattered  our  opponent  at  the  club  the 
night  before,  when  the  most  telling  shafts  of  invective 
push  up  into  our  consciousness.  What  books,  what  plays 
might  not  be  written,  if  only  those  fading  thoughts 
and  elusive  dialogues  could  be  retained! 

Philip's  efforts  were  but  play-time  work,  however. 
He  still  thought  that  he  was  destined  to  rise  to  heights 
in  his  own  chosen  profession.  His  chief  asset  was  a 
voice  of  splendid  range  and  power,  the  sort  that  leads 
a  stranger  to  remark  that  it  would  be  a  wonderful  sing- 
ing voice — velvet,  tender,  with  that  hint  of  force  in 
reserve  which  is  so  useful  in  an  actor. 

He  had  made  friends  in  Sydney.  His  personality 
had  carried  over  the  footlights,  even  in  the  small  part 
he  had,  and  some  people  in  his  own  social  class  had 
asked  to  be  introduced  to  him.  In  his  small  circle  he 
was  a  success. 

It  happened  naturally  enough,  therefore,  that  when 
a  gigantic  charity  matinee  was  planned  by  a  bevy  of 
people  who  see  in  Charity  a  fine  source  of  advertisement, 
Philip  should  be  approached  to  help. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         107 

"What  a  ma^ificent  Beaucaire  he  would  make,"  an 
enthusiastic  girl  on  the  Committee  said,  clasping  her 
hands  in  delight.  *'\Ve  must  have  'Monsieur  Beau- 
caire.' " 

As  well  that  as  anything.  Philip,  free  once  more  in 
the  daytime,  felt  something  of  his  old  enthusiasm  return 
as  he  read  the  part  and  saw  himself  in  it,  clad  in  the 
white  satin  dress  of  Beaucaire.  His  actor's  blood  stirred. 
He  swashbuckled  in  mind.  In  the  end,  he  arranged  the 
whole  thing,  partly  with  amateurs,  partly  with  good- 
natured  professionals.  The  big  theatrical  firm  of  Mas- 
ters and  Edwards  lent  a  theater,  and  a  packed,  perspir- 
ing, fashionable  audience  bought  outrageously  expensive 
sweets  for  the  Cause,  and  munched  patiently  after  their 
kind  till  the  curtain  went  up. 

There  was  a  furore.  To  say  he  made  good  would  be 
a  poor  description.  It  was  a  riot.  He  shone — he 
sparkled — he  laughed — he  confounded.  Everything  he 
did  was  in  tune.  His  grace  was  a  thing  to  wonder  at — 
ancestors  a  hundred  years  dead  quickened  and  lent  him 
their  own  charm. 

Ten  times  the  curtain  went  up,  and  the  tall,  infinitely 
charming  Beaucaire  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  It 
was  rather  a  change  from  the  one-side  part  at  the  other 
theatre. 

It  was  an  intoxicating  draught  the  audience  held  out 
to  him,  and  he  drank  deep  of  it.  This  was  Acknowledg- 
ment indeed.  This  was  Fame!  It  was  Life,  delicious, 
inspiring.  Shaking  with  excitement,  he  sloughed  his 
brilliant  popinjay  attire,  and  walked  out  into  a  changed 
world. 

Mrs.  Bignett  could  not  understand  him.  He  was  gay 
and  debonair,  dancing  her  astounded  little  body  clear 
across  the  kitchen,  and  bowing  his  beautiful  Beaucaire 
bow,  while  a  stream  of  the  delightful  broken  English 
mingled  with  French  scraps  in  his  mock  apology.  As  a 
terrible  climax,  which  filled  the  little  woman  with  in- 
credulous delight,  and  the  sister  with  hoari?e  mirth,  he 
picked  his  landlady  up  and  deliberately  kissed  her.  Then 
he  fled,  laughing. 


108        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"My  Gawdf ather ! "  the  sister  exclaimed,  admiringly, 
"wisht  it'd  bin  me!    He's  a  peach  of  a  man." 

With  anticipatory  delight  he  opened  his  paper  next 
morning.  "  'E"  had  been  sent  out  for  one.  To  read 
an  account  of  himself  as  leading  man  would  be  a 
sensation. 

Charity  Matinee. 


'MoNsiEUB  Beaucaire"  AT  Theatre  Royal. 


** and  last,  but  not  least,  the  State 

Governor  and  Lady  McGill  were  present.  Her 
Excellency  wore  (twenty  lines  of  f rocking  and 
society  news).  The  play  presented  was  the 
rather  banal  'Beaucaire,'  in  which  Mr.  P.  Lee 
played  the  name  part,  supported  by  capable 
amateurs.  It  is  believed  the  Hospital  will 
benefit  to  the  extent  of  at  least  £600." 

How  damnable!  Of  course  there  was  no  advertising 
to  pay  for  a  proper  critique.    Still 

Ten  minutes  later,  a  dapper  little  man  in  a  top-hat 
knocked  at  the  door  of  No.  231,  and  was  brought  upstairs 
by  a  gratified  Mrs.  Bignett,  who  vaguely  connected  top- 
hats  with  religion.  She  felt  that  her  adored  Mr.  Lee 
deserved  such  a  caller. 

"A  gen'leman  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said.  That  "sir" 
was  a  concession  no  ordinary  Australian  could  have 
wrung  from  her  democratic  bosom. 

Philip  took  the  card  from  her  grimy  fingers. 

"Mr.  John  Derby,"  it  read,  and  the  address  was  the 
Theatre  Royal. 

"I  represent  Masters  and  Edwards'  crowd,  Mr.  Lee," 
he  began,  in  a  pleasantly  flippant  voice,  which  confided 
to  Philip  by  implication  that  it  was  a  queer  crowd  to 
represent,  but  one  must  understand  that  a  living  had  to 
be  got  somehow. 

"Suppose  I  come  to  the  point  without  skirmishing. 
We  like  your  Beaucaire.  We  need  a  good  fellow  for 
Romantic  Comedy — young — er" — he  twinkled  just  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         109 

least  bit — "able  to  make  up  as  passably  good-looking — 
you  know  the  sort  of  thing.  We're  sick  of  putting  a 
wig  and  paint  on  an  old  chap  of  fifty  and  asking  the 
crowd  to  be  good  to  him  and  kid  him  they're  taken  in. 
"We're  putting  on  'The  Musketeers/  'Beaucaire,'  'School 
for  Thingummy' — all  that  rubbish.  The  public  like  it. 
If  you're  not  tied  to  the  other  crowd — we  thought — 
p'raps  you'd  give  a  squint  at  this  contract." 

The  "squint"  revealed  a  contract  for  twelve  months, 
at  a  salary  of  ten  pounds — grossly  unfair,  shockingly 
underpaid  for  the  work — ^but  still — a  contract,  a  recogni- 
tion of  ability. 

"I'll  sign  it,"  said  Philip  eagerly,  and  Derby  wished 
they'd  put  a  six,  instead  of  the  ten.  The  fellow  was  a 
booby. 

"Good  business.  I  always  know  a  business  man 
when  I  see  one.  No  fooling  about.  Knows  his  own 
mind.     Here  you  are."     He  held  out  a  fountain  pen. 

"How  long  notice  have  you  to  give  your  crowd?"  he 
asked. 

"I'll  stay  till  they  have  a  man  to  put  in  my  place," 
Philip  declared. 

"Well,  buck  'em  up.  We  start  rehearsals  in  Mel- 
bourne three  weeks  from  to-day.  By  the  way,  where 
were  you  born?" 

"Australia." 

"Bad  luck.  But  you  came  from  England  here, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  'Sail  right.  We'll  bill  you  as  the  famous  English 
Romantic  Comedy  Actor,  direct  from  the  Duke  of  York 
Theatre." 

"But  I've  never  been  inside ,"  began  Philip. 

"  'S  pity.  But  you  must  often  have  passed  there. 
Well,  I'm  off.  Ta-ta.  Get  rid  of  those  people  at  once, 
and  come  and  see  me  when  you're  fixed." 

He  nodded  a  gay  adieu,  and  left  behind  him  a  man 
who  believed  that  at  twenty-five  he  had  tasted  the  best 
the  world  can  offer.     Perhaps  he  had. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"The  Pope  may  launch  his  Interdict, 
The    Union   its   decree, 
But  the  bubble  is  blown  and  the  bubble  is  pricked 

By  Us  and  such  as  We. 
Bemember  the  battle  and  stand  aside 

While  Thrones  and  Powers  confess 
That  King  over  all  the  children  of  pride 
Is  the  Press — the  Press — the  Press!" 

— The  Press 

A   YEAR'S  Articles  had  qualified  Peter  to  practice 
his  profession.     A  very  lean  year  it  had  been, 
owing   to   the   ridiculous   requirements   of   the 
regulations,  that  during  its  currency  an  articled  clerk 
must  devote  himself  to  his  unpaid  job,  and  refrain  from 
such  unimportant  details  as  making  a  living. 

Polly's  egg-money  found  sad  drains  on  it,  firupple- 
mented  by  such  other  sums  as  Jim  could  spare. 

However,  it  ended,  and  in  a  drab  court,  on  the  motion 
of  a  fledgling  barrister,  his  own  contemporary,  he  was 
admitted  to  practice  as  a  barrister  and  solicitor  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Victoria, 

Being  thus  licensed  to  shoulder  the  burdens  of  the 
worried  public,  it  was  disappointing  that  not  a  single 
member  of  the  harassed  masses  showed  the  slightest  dis- 
position to  avail  himself  of  the  help  Peter  was  prepared 
to  render.  He  religiously  attended  his  tiny  office,  took 
his  seat  daily  at  a  painfully  shiny  table,  sorted  his  clean 
blotting-paper,  tried  his  half-dozen  new  pens  in  the  glass 
ink-well,  and — waited.  Sometimes  he  wandered  up  to 
the  Law  Courts  and  listened  to  the  dreary  cases  going 
on.  On  such  occasions  he  put  up  an  unnecessary  card 
which  announced  to  an  indifferent  world  that  he  would 
be  "back  at  two." 

110 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         111 

Conscientiously  lie  would  return,  but  no  queue  system 
wag  required  to  marshal  the  waiting  throng.  This 
hungry  period  synchronized  with  that  in  which  Philip's 
story  was  cast  on  the  waters. 

Then  Chance  befriended  him.  In  Chancery  Lane,  a 
hurrying  individual  ran  into  him,  and  cursed  him 
bitterly. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  Mr.  O'Dwyer!"  exclaimed  Peter. 

O'Dwyer  stared,  and  invited  the  Almighty  to  bless 
his  soul  if  it  wasn't  Peter  "Wister. 

**And,  for  Heaven's  sake,  call  me  Mickey,  Peter.  For- 
get I 'ma  condemned  schoolmaster,"  adding  immediately, 
* '  do  you  actually  have  your  being  in  this  infernal  Petti- 
coat Lane  of  swindlers?" 

They  were  ten  paces  off  Peter's  office.  O'Dwyer  re- 
sponded with  alacrity  to  Peter's  timid  invitation.  They 
entered. 

The  master's  quick  eye  took  in  the  newness,  the 
indecent  freshness  of  it  all;  he  noted  the  tidy,  unused 
table. 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  welshing  the  public, 
my  dear  chap?"  he  inquired. 

"I've  been  qualified  to  do  it  for  three  months,"  Peter 
informed  him,  "but  so  far  they've  been  content  to  wait." 

"Cowardly  brutes,"  Mickey  commented.  "In  the 
meantime,  does  the  history  of  the  canine  companion  of 
the  recently  deceased  Mrs.  Hubbard  have  any  message 
for  you  at  all?" 

"The  poor  dog  has  none,"  smiled  Peter,  without 
Ibitterness. 

"There  are  other  cupboards,  my  friend,"  suggested 
the  visitor. 

"All  locked,  Mr.  O'Dwyer." 

"Mickey,  Peter,  confound  your  thick-headedness." 

"I  said  they  were  all  locked — Mickey,"  repeated 
Peter,  obediently. 

"  H  'm ! "    A  long  reflective  pause. 

"I  wonder  if  I've  got  a  key.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
that  in  taking  on  this  legal  game  you're  bucking  heavily 
against  one  of  my  aged  prophecies?" 


112        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Peter  looked  puzzled. 

"You're  probably  the  worst  lawyer  in  Melbourne,  at 
the  present  moment,  and  Tm  aware  of  the  full  si?:nifi- 
cance  of  the  accusation,"  Mickey  continued.  "But 
there's  one  thing  about  the  law  you'd  be  infernally 
good  at." 

"I'd  be  glad  to  know  it,  then,"  said  Peter. 

*'A  witness,"  Mickey  told  him,  impressively.  *'My 
funny  friend,  are  you  aware  that  you  are  a  born 
observer?  That  you  have  a  gift  of  getting  to  the — er — 
pardon  me,  the  guts — of  a  tiling?  Now,  unfortunately, 
you  have  no  opening  as  a  professional  witness,  so  where 
do  we  find  ourselves?" 

"In  the  cart,  apparently,"  Peter  replied,  without 
hesitation. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  newspapers,  dear  boy?" 
inquired  Mickey,  whose  discursive  style  was  a  curse  to 
his  cronies.  He  would  only  come  to  the  point  in  his 
own  time  and  method,  and  one  had  to  give  him  his  head. 

"I've  seen  them,"  replied  Peter,  falling  into  his 
mood, 

"Now  we've  cleared  the  ground.  Newspapers," 
didactically,  in  the  authentic  manner  of  the  schoolmaster, 
his  forefinger  pointed  accusingly  at  Peter — "newspapers 
do  not  write  themselves.  They  are  written,  or  oftener 
stolen,  by  men  like  me  and  you.  I,  even  I  who  speak 
to  you,  as  the  French  say,  occasionally  indite  of  a  good 
matter,  and  lift  current  coin  of  the  realm  therefor.  My 
lucubrations  are  printed  in  the  daily  press,  and  by  those 
simple  means  gain  absolute  credence  for  their  opinions 
from  men  who  would  not  believe  me  in  propria  persona, 
on  oath.  Print,  Peter,  is  a  wonderful  thing.  Please 
say  you  are  astonished." 

"I  really  am  astonished,"  .said  Peter. 

"And  impressed,"  dictated  Mickey. 

"Undoubtedly  impressed,"  he  agreed. 

""Well,  why  should  not  you,  in  the  intervals  of  dealing 
with  the  enormous  financial  and  legal  interests  of  your 
clients,  go  and  do  likewise?" 

"As  how?"    Peter  begged  for  enlightment. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        113 

"Men  chiefly  love  to  read  what  themselves  have  noted 
but  lack  words  to  express,"  Mickey  said,  glibly.  "A 
cabman  dissatisfied  with  his  fare  and  saying  so  in  good 
Australian  is  a  more  interesting  figure  to  the  tired  busi- 
ness man  than  Ulysses  and  all  his  adventures.  Did  you 
know  that?" 

''Only  of  myself,"  said  Peter;  **I  suppose  it  is  true." 

"Newspapers  pay  for  things  that  possess  an  element 
of  human  interest.  Will  you  remember  that  phrase? 
Hang  on  to  it.  Human  interest !  Go  to !  'Easy  Lessons 
in  Practical  Journalism,*  by  Mickey  O'D.  Write  me 
an  article  on  any  ordinary  topic — let  me  see.  A  sub- 
urban bread-winner  running  for  the  8.8 — a  solicitor  wait- 
ing for  clients  like  a  fat  spider  in  a  web,  and  they  come 
not,  though  he  has  been  required  to  liquidate  his  over- 
draft— anything,  so  long  as  the  man  in  the  street  will 
recognize  the  type  and  its  eternal  truth." 

"But  I  can't  write,"  objected  Peter, 

"If  you  could,  my  dear  old  ass,  I  wouldn't  be  advis- 
ing you  to  take  to  journalism.  You  could  be  making 
a  fortune  writing  mining  prospectuses.  Go  and  get 
your  hair  cut — it  wants  it — and  come  back  here  and 
write  what  you  see  and  hear.  Make  a  human  interest 
story.  Then  bring  it  to  me.  I've  got  diggings  some- 
where— ^let's  see." 

He  fished  for  a  card  in  unlikely  waters,  with  an 
earnestness  that  made  it  seem  that  the  existence  of  the 
diggings  depended  on  his  landing  the  card.  Finally 
he  succeeded,  and  handed  it  to  Peter, 

"There.  Now  let  me  go.  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  a  busy  man's  appointments." 

With  a  pleasant  smile  to  temper  the  gibe,  and  a  final 
reminder  of  that  human  interest  he  insisted  on,  he 
gained  the  grimy  corridor,  and  made  off  for  the  sunlight 
of  the  street. 

Such  is  the  power  of  suggestion  that  Peter  went  ten 
minutes  afterwards  to  have  his  hair  cut.  He  put  up  a 
card,  "Back  in  half  an  hour,"  If  a  stray  client  got 
away  from  Peter,  it  would  not  be  the  latter 's  fault. 

The  article  made  a  half-column  in  the  evening  paper 


114.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

that  O'Dwyer  recommended.  The  gentleman,  chuck- 
ling and  delighted,  shoved  it  across  to  the  editor, 
Ingram,  a  splendid  young  fellow,  who  had  attained  his 
journalistic  majority  at  an  age  when  his  contemporaries 
were  still  cubbing. 

Ingram  read  it.  An  editor  is  never  visibly  impressed 
by  anything.     He  put  it  down. 

**The  chap's  been  to  my  barber,"  he  said,  and  he 
gave  a  sudden  laugh.     *  *  It 's  Burke  to  a  T. " 

^'The  beauty  of  it  is,  my  clever  young  friend,  that 
he's  been  to  everybody's  barber.  The  boy's  captured 
the  type.  He 'a  cut  away  all  the  excrescences,  and 
shown  us  the  essential  barber — the  qualities  without 
which  no  barber  can — er — ^barb." 

** Mickey,  you've  made  a  find,"  approved  the  editor; 
*'send  him  to  see  me." 

Peter  was  never  to  know  the  joy  that  comes  of  listen- 
ing to  a  client's  woes,  when  the  client  is  going  to  pay 
for  the  luxury  of  confidence.  He  closed  his  office,  sold 
his  shiny  table,  but  kept  his  pens  and  blotting-paper. 
He  had  found  himself.  Every  Tuesday  night,  the  Man 
in  the  Street,  who  is  also  the  Man  in  the  Train,  in  the 
Tram,  in  the  Office,  in  the  Home,  chuckled  over  an  article 
which  dissected  his  neighbor's  idiosyncrasies.  Never 
his  own,  you  will  note.  Idiosyncrasies  are  what  other 
people  exhibit.  You  are  always  the  perfect  norm,  with 
maybe  one  or  two  specially  lovable  little  ways. 

He  changed  his  diggings,  for  some  nearer  his  work. 
Ingram  promised  to  find  a  vacancy  on  the  staff,  and 
in  the  meantime  fed  him  with  odd  scraps — descrip- 
tive articles,  human  interest  stories,  and  always  his 
angle  of  vision  was  the  angle  of  his  friend  the  Man 
in  the  Street,  but  more  acute,  more  observing — more 
kindly. 

He  had  been  in  this  milieu  about  two  months  when 
Philip  arrived  in  Sydney.  They  entered  into  eager 
correspondence,  and  he  was  kept  up-to-date  in  all  his 
friend's  affairs,  with  the  exception  of  the  Mazie 
interlude. 

One  day  he  was  delighted  to  receive  a  wire  telling 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         115 

of  the  projected  visit  to  Melbourne.  He  hurried  down 
to  Mrs,  Chuff,  hia  landlady. 

**I  say,  Ma,''  he  appealed.  "I  want  you  to  keep 
a  room  for  a  friend  of  mine,  an  actor.  He'll  be  here  in 
three  weeks." 

Mrs.  Chuff  beamed. 

"A  Nacter!"  she  echoed.  "  'Struttin'  'is  little  ^lour 
on  th'  stige.'  0'  course  we'll  fix  'im  up,  dearie,  Mar '11 
see  to  that.  He'd  be  a  fairly  young  one,  I  s'pose?" 
she  asked,  almost  as  if  she  were  referring  to  poultry 
offered  to  her  culinary  skill. 

"My  age,"  said  Peter. 

"Oh,  a  chicking,"  she  commented,  "righto,  my  bird. 
'E  shall  'ave  the  best  the  'ouse  affords.  I  can't  say 
fairer,  can  I?  'Warder,  0,  let  the  port  colors  drop,'  " 
she  concluded. 

Mrs.  Chuff  had  a  vague  idea  that  this  line  betokened 
a  welcome.  "What  the  port  colors  were  she  could  not 
have  told  you.  Her  fat  face  wreathed  itself  in  delighted 
smiles,  and  her  chins  all  shook,  rippling  up  to  her  neck. 
Then  the  threatened  laugh  came  gustily,  wheezily,  shak- 
ing her  bulk  and  ending,  as  it  always  did,  in  a  fit  of 
coughing,  during  the  spasms  of  which  she  continued  to 
smile,  her  red,  congested  eyes  narrowed  to  slits  by  the 
exertion,  but  promising  more  mirth  when  the  trouble 
should  have  passed. 

Mrs.  Chuff  was  delighted.  She  had  for  many  years 
been  a  theatrical  dresser,  following  for  twenty  years 
the  fortunes  of  an  actress  to  whom  she  always  referred 
as  "Miss  'Arrington." 

Miss  'Arrington  remained  for  her  a  type  of  all  that 
was  good,  and  clever.  Through  her,  all  actresses  were 
to  be  defended  from  aspersions.  Night  after  night  she 
had  stood  in  the  wings,  watching  with  adoring  eyes,  and 
it  was  in  this  way  she  had  picked  up  her  odd  scraps  of 
dialogue  from  plays  and  poems,  for  Miss  'Arrington  had 
recited  often  for  charity.  With  these  she  garnished 
her  conversation,  never  failing  to  pay  herself  the  tribute 
of  a  wheezy  laugh,  for  she  perfectly  understood  her  own 
limitations,  and  knew  that  ignorance  of  the  printed  word 


116        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

and  imperfect  hearing  of  the  spoken,  often  cast  grave 
doubts  on  the  accuracy  of  her  rendering.  But  the 
rh}i:hms  always  remained,  and  she  would  often  "la-de," 
or  "tum-tum"  the  missing  syllables. 

Her  husband  was  still  stage-doorkeeper  at  the  Princess 
Theater,  where  Philip  was  to  appear.  He  lived  in  a 
little  box,  surrounded  by  letters  and  keys.  He  had  a 
manner  that  borbade  approach  on  weekdays,  a  strictly 
official  manner,  that  thawed  to  a  mellow  affability  on 
Sundays. 

"We're  both  in  the  perfesh,"  Mrs.  Chuff  used  to  say. 
"on'y  o'  course  I'm  furder  in  than  Chuff." 

They  suited  each  other  perfectly  and  found  endless 
interest  in  "shop"  talk,  that  dated  back  to  palmy  days 
and  great  names.  She  kept  her  theatrical  title  of  "Ma," 
always  alluding  to  herself  under  that  intimate  appella- 
tion. Every  boarder,  such  was  her  winning  way, 
dropped  into  the  habit  by  the  second  day.  In  return 
she  called  everyone  "dearie,"  "pet,"  "my  bird,"  or 
"my  jewel,"  and  other  mechanical  endearing  names. 
Boarders,  men  and  women,  w^alked  into  her  kitchen,  and 
helped  her  to  "dish-up,"  even  carrying  their  own  plates, 
when  ready,  into  the  adjoining  dining-room.  Polly  ap- 
proved of  her,  and  she  of  Polly;  her  love  for  Peter, 
who  often  helped  her  with  the  washing-up,  while  she  told 
him  stories  of  her  artistic  career,  was  so  strong  that  she 
was  with  difficulty  prevailed  on  to  take  his  weekly  money. 
The  boarding-house  was  bought  with  a  legacy  from  her 
beloved  Miss  'Arrington. 

The  Houses  of  Parliament  were  hard  by,  majestically 
closing  the  broad  vista  of  Bourke  Street  with  noble 
Grecian  portico,  at  the  head  of  a  broad,  lofty  flight  of 
steps,  and  a  couple  of  members  of  Parliament — /lonorary 
members,  Mrs.  Chuff  called  them — occupied  balcony 
rooms  in  the  house.  The  rest  were  actors  or  commercial 
"gents,"  who  thought  they  were  living  in  Bohemia. 
And  then  there  was — Margaret. 

Margaret  w^as  a  joy.  She  fell  heir  to  the  wealth  of 
affection  Miss  'Arrington  left  behind  her.  She  wag  the 
daughter  of  a  deceased  Attorney-General  of  the  Common- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         117 

wealth,  a  fact  wliicli  filled  Ma  with  a  sense  of  intense 
gratification.  Her  one  remaining  relative,  an  Aunt, 
was  "in  Serciety,"  and  frequently  drove  up  to  the  house 
in  a  broosh  with  a  coachman  on  the  box  who  wore  *'a 
cocky  in  'is  'at."  Mrs.  Chuff  used  to  watch  thi.-j  official 
through  the  drawing-room  window  what  time  his  mis- 
tress was  within.  Curiously  enough,  he  appeared  to 
Ma  far  grander  than  Margaret's  Aunt.  Kecollections 
of  ''My  Lord,  the  carriage  waits,"  invested  the  equipage 
with  an  aristocratic  air  that  enveloped  the  whole  house 
for  a  full  hour  after  it  had  driven  away. 

Margaret  possessed  a  hundred  a  year  of  her  own, 
and  limitless  hopes  and  ambitions.  Exquisite  miniatures 
on  ivory  testified  to  a  solid  basis  of  talent,  and  in  her 
room,  which  she  furnished  and  decorated  with  her  own 
money,  she  lived  happily  and  independently,  seeing  and 
entertaining  her  friends  there,  and  gathering  round  her 
a  little  coterie  of  men  and  women,  young,  enthusiastic, 
clever,  all  of  them  "doing"  something. 

Her  room  was  directly  over  Peter's.  He  was  there 
a  week  before  he  saw  her,  owing  to  hh  irregular 
hours.  One  evening,  he  was  leaning  his  elbows  on  his 
window-sill,  head  and  shoulders  thrust  far  out,  trying  to 
take  advantage  of  a  tiny  cool  breeze  that  had  sprung  up 
at  the  end  of  a  hot  summer  day.  He  was  enjoying  the 
moist,  earthy  smell  from  the  wet  lawns  of  the  park  that 
closed  the  street. 

Something  that  clung,  something  long,  something 
clammily  wet,  something  black — suddenly  fell  on  the 
back  of  his  neck,  and  dangled  dripping  ends  over  his 
shoulders.  He  clutched  at  it.  It  was  a  woman's  silk 
stocking. 

Simultaneously  he  heard  a  stifled  exclamation  above. 
It  might  have  been  dismay;  it  might  have  been  mirth. 
He  looked  up.  It  was  mirth.  Two  merry  eyes  were  en- 
joying the  disgraceful  episode,  while  an  apologetic  mouth 
was  framing  suitable  regrets.  Peter  grinned  cheerfully, 
and  broke  his  Laoeoon  pose. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  the  girl  said,  with  an  adorable 
demureness.     ' '  It  slipped.     I — I  was  just  going  to  hang 


118         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

it  out,  when  I  caught  sight  of  you.  I  was  frightened 
at — I  dropped  it." 

Peter  found  that  gazing  upwards  at  a  vision  was 
tiring  work. 

''I'll  bring  it  up,"  he  called. 

A  minute  later  he  was  opposite  her  door;  she  stood 
in  the  opening,  frankly  laughing,  a  wholesome  big- 
hearted  laugh  that  had  not  a  suggestion  of  a  giggle 
about  it.  Peter  was  grateful  for  this.  Girls  who 
giggled  made  him  see  red. 

"I'm  a  born  retriever,"  he  said,  and  passed  the 
stocking. 

**Good  dog,"  she  replied,  approvingly.  Peter  felt 
as  though  he  had  been  patted.  Through  the  door  he 
got  a  flashing  glimpse  of  the  room.  He  expected  a 
replica  of  hig  own.  Dainty  chintzes  instead,  box-curtains 
of  some  exquisite  stuff  at  the  windows!  So  much  his 
unintentional  glance  had  revealed.  He  looked  resolutely 
away,  concentrating  his  attention  on  the  girl. 

There  was  a  tiny  pause.  The  incident  called  for  noth- 
ing further.  To  force  a  conversation  on  her  would  be 
taking  advantage  of  the  situation.     But  what  a  girl ! 

With  a  stilted  little  bow,  that  bore  evidence  to  his 
lack  of  minor  graces,  he  turned,  with  reluctant  feet.  She, 
on  the  contrary,  was  coerced  by  no  grundyisms.  She 
liked  this  shy  youth  at  the  first  glance. 

*'I'm  Margaret  Gillies,"  she  said,  with  a  charming 
directness.  "Would  you  like  Ma  Chuff  to  introduce 
us,  or  shall  we  go  it  alone?" 

He  smiled  in  a  friendly  fashion,  and  turned  back. 
The  boyishness  of  her  conquered  his  shvness. 

'  *  We  might  risk  it, "  he  said.     "  I  'm  Peter  Wister. ' ' 

"Not  ihe  Peter  Wister?"  she  asked,  gravely. 

"No,"  he  rejoined;  "just  Peter  WLster." 

"Do  you  know  Alastair  Carr?"  she  inquired. 

"Rather.  Do  you?  He  was  at  Queen's  with  me." 
He  was  delighted  to  know  they  had  a  friend  in  common. 
It  put  their  accquaintance  on  a  footing  at  once. 

"Then  you  are  the  Peter  Wister.  Alastair  said  you 
had  genius." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        119 

*'Wliat  on  earth  for?"  he  asked,  blankly. 

** Friendship,"  she  told  him. 

"Oh — silly  idiot — I  mean  Carr,"  he  explained,  hastily. 
Then  he  astonished  himself  by  a  speech  that  was  pos- 
itively courtly  for  him. 

"If  I  have  any  small  talent,  I'd  like  the  opportunity 
to  develop  it — with  you,"  he  risked,  and  flushed  with 
his  presumption,  a  moment  after. 

"You  shall,"  she  promised.  *'Are  you  permanent?" 
she  asked. 


"I  don't  mean  in  friendship,"  she  broke  into  a 
laugh. 

"Oh,  here?"  He  suddenly  caught  her  drift.  "Oh, 
yes,  I'm  one  of  Ma's  boys.  I  expect  to  die  here.  That 
is,  if  I  can  keep  on  paying  for  the  room.    And  you?" 

"Behold!"  She  moved  aside,  and  the  glory  of  the 
transformed  room  revealed  itself.  The  bed  was  cun- 
ningly screened  off.  A  large  sitting-room  was  the  effect 
produced. 

"My  word!"  he  whispered,  in  astonishment.  "Are 
you  a  millionaire?" 

"Not  in  cash.  But  I  am  in  happiness.  I  have  simply 
unlimited  funds  to  draw  on,  for  my  friends  as  well  as 
myself.     Notice  the  prevailing  hue?" 

"Blue,"  judged  Peter. 

"Eight.  A  nice  sense  of  color  you  have.'*  She  ap- 
proved him  with  her  eyes.  "Blue!  For  happiness! 
Nobody  must  be  unhappy  here.  They  may  come  un- 
happy, but  they  must  never  go  unhappy.  That's  one 
of  the  rules  of  the  establishment." 

"Ripping  idea,"  he  agreed.  He  would  have  agreed 
with  anything  she  said,  the  radiant  creature ! 

"  'No.  1,  Contentment  Road'  is  the  address,"  she  said, 
with  a  grave,  sweet  smile.  "Make  a  note  of  it,  Mr. 
Wister." 

"I  have,"  he  assured  her.  "What's  Contentment 
Road?" 

"My  life  track.  I'm  humping  my  bluey  along  it,  all 
on  my  own,  but  it's  going  to  lead  me  on  a  very  jolly 


120         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

existence.  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  it.  This  is  No.  1, 
but  if  circumstances  evict  me,  I  '11  just  move  on  to  No.  2, 
but  it'll  be  on  the  same  old  road." 

* 'You're  an  optimist,"  he  accused  her. 

**We  all  are,  if  we'd  only  admit  it,"  she  retorted. 
"A  pessimist  is  only  a  superstitious  ass  who's  afraid 
to  let  the  jealous  gods  know  he's  still  hoping." 

''Don't  you  fear  that  Life  is  sometimes  waiting  round 
the  corner — er — with  a — a  bludgeon  ? "  he  asked,  anxious 
to  come  to  the  heart  of  her  philosophy. 

"There  are  no  corners  in  Contentment  Road,"  she 
said,  serenely,  with  all  her  delicious  innocence  and  igno- 
rance in  her  dancing  eyes,  and  she  put  a  shapely  arm 
against  the  lintel,  and  leaned  her  cheek  against  it,  as 
she  challenged  his  reply. 

"Doesn't  that  make  it  rather  dull?"  he  wanted  to 
know. 

"You  get  a  straight  view,"  she  said,  merrily,  "and 
with  all  the  wonderful  things  in  the  landscape,  how 
can  anyone  be  dull?" 

"I  like  to  see  my  road  straight,  too,"  Peter  said. 
"May  I  come  up  sometimes  to  No.  1  Contentment 
Road?" 

"My  working  hours  are  nine  to  twelve,"  she 
replied,  "and  I  sleep  from  eleven  till  eight.  Otherwise 
the  door  is  always  on  the  latch.  For  emergencies,  I'll 
break  into  either  work  or  sleep." 

"But  if  I  make  a  nuisance  of  myself?  I  might 
come  too  often,  "  he  suggested,  thrilling  at  the  thought 
of  the  unlatched  gate  into  the  garden  of  Contentment. 

"I  have  a  cure  for  that,  too,"  she  smiled,  "but  it's 
a  secret  remedy.  And  now,  I  must  wash  that  other 
stocking.     They're  my  best.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Peter,  awkwardly.  She  was  pre- 
paring to  shut  the  door,  and  her  dimpling  sweetness 
looked  out  at  him  through  the  aperture,  with  just  a 
hint  of  impudence. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  got  big,  broad  shoulders,"  she 
said. 

"Why?"  he  challenged  her. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         121 

"My  stocking  might  have  missed  you,  if  you'd  been 
a  weed,"  she  explained,  and  the  door  clicked. 

''Now  what  on  earth  did  she  mean  by  that?"  thought 
the  slow  Peter,  and  descended  reluctantly  but  happily 
to  his  room. 

Human  interest  was  claiming  a  revenge. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"It's  like  a  hook,  I  ihinlc,  this  bloomin'  world, 
Which  you  can  read  and  care  fur  just  so  long. 
But  presently  you  feel  that  you  mil  die 
Unless  you  get   the  page  you're  readin'  done, 
An'  turn  another — likely  not  so  good; 
But  what  you're  after  is  to  turn   'em  all." 

— Sestina  of  the  Teamp-eoyal 

IT  was  high  festival  in  Peter's  calendar  the  day  Philip 
arrived. 
Mrs.  Chuff  was  glad  to  get  him  out  of  the  house. 

" Worse 'n  a  nold  'en  with  one  chicking,"  she  told 
him,  and  she  surreptitiously  put  the  kitchen  clock  on  a 
full  half-hour. 

"You'll  never  get  down  in  time,  me  lord,  if  you 
don't  buck  up,"  she  cried,  in  well-acted  panic. 

"Keep  us  some  grub;  he's  sure  to  be  hungry,"  he 
shouted  to  her,  and  fled. 

He  had  nearly  an  hour  to  wait  on  the  Spencer  Street 
platform,  for  the  Sydney  Express  was  running  half  an 
hour  late. 

"Good  business!  Good  business!"  was  all  the  elo- 
quence he  could  muster,  as  for  at  least  half  a  minute  he 
wrung  Philip 's  hand. 

"Dear  old  chap,"  the  latter  said,  affectionately. 
"Jove,  it's  good  to  see  your  ugly  old  mug  again.  How 
long  is  it — two  years?  Half  a  tick,  till  I  get  my  luggage 
through,  and  then  I'm  your  man." 

New,  virgin  valises,  with  a  glittering  initial  L  on  each, 
as  befitted  an  important  actor,  were  piled  into  a  cab, 
together  with  a  battered,  disreputable,  leering  old  trunk. 
They  clattered  up  Collins  Street.  Philip  looked  about 
him  with  interest. 

"You've  got  to  travel  to  appreciate  all  this,"  he  said, 

122 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        123 

with  an  eye  on  the  breadth  of  the  road.     ''Great  old 
place.     I'm  awfully  glad  to  be  back,  Peter." 

''You're  a  great  man,  Phil.  You'll  never  be  satisfied 
with  Melbourne  for  long.  You'll  soon  go  kiting  off 
somewhere  else." 

"Here,  give  us  a  chance,"  the  "great  man"  protested. 
**I've  just  arrived,  and  here  you  start  looking  up 
Bradshaw  for  outward  bound  traffic. ' ' 

"Not  me.     How's  the  wonderful  play  getting  along?" 

"Which  one?  The  written  or  the  spoken?  I'm  writ- 
ing a  corker,  old  son.  I  believe  I'll  develop  into  a  ruddy 
little  playwright.  Oscar  "Wilde  could  never  make  words 
sparkle  as  I  can.  Epigrams  just  come  and  eat  out  of 
my  hand. ' ' 

"Are  you  giving  up  the  stage,  then?  I  thought  that 
waa  where  Fame  was  coming  from. " 

"Oh,  I'll  give  it  a  run.  I  said  I  wouldn't  give  it  up, 
till  I'd  shown  those  manager  chappies  a  thing  or  two, 
among  other  things  that  an  Australian  can  act.  After 
that,  well — we'll  see." 

"So  you're  an  Australian,"  Peter  interjected;  ''that's 
good  business."  "Good  business"  was  the  inarticulate 
Peter's  superlative. 

"You  bet  I  am.  You've  got  to  be  an  exile  to  make 
you  a  good  patriot.  I  find  they  can  do  most  things  in 
this  funny  old  place  just  as  well  as  the  chaps  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water.     Hullo!  this  the  place?" 

Mrs.  Chuff  was  waiting  for  them,  at  the  head  of  the 
long  flight  of  steps  that  led  from  the  street,  beaming 
warmly,  like  a  fat  sun,  her  head  nodding  a  violent  wel- 
come. She  hung  over  the  iron  rail  and  yelled  to  the 
cabman. 

"George,"  she  directed,  "bring  along  them  things 
to  No.  10.     It's  on  the  second  floor." 

The  dazed  cabman,  whose  name  was  Albert,  obeyed, 
wondering  why  he  did.  Philip 's  generous  overpayment 
perhaps  was  a  deciding  factor. 

At  the  top  of  the  steps.  Ma  met  them. 

"This  is  Ma,"  introduced  Peter.     Philip  smiled. 
'If   I   put  all   the   good  things  I've   heard   about 


(<- 


124        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Mrs.  Chuff  into  a  book,"  he  said,  "it  would  be  as  big 
as  "Webster's  Dictionary." 

"Now,  that's  spoke  like  a  prince,"  declared  the  elated 
lady.  "I  must  tell  that  to  Chuff."  She  led  the  way 
indoors,  the  two  following  in  her  rear,  like  two  supply 
ships  in  the  wake  of  a  warship. 

Come  on  down  an'  heat  yer  dinner  while  it's  'ot. 
Mr.  Wister'll  show  you  yer  room  after.  It's  next  'is, 
the  fussy  ole  thing." 

"Ma!"  reproached  Peter. 

"Lor !  'E  will  'ave  me  call  'im  Peter,"  she  explained, 
"but  it  don't  sound  right  before  strangers,  some'ow." 

"Give  me  till  to-morrow,  Mrs.  Chuff,  and  I'll  defy 
you  to  call  me  a  stranger,"  remarked  Philip. 

A  vague  whisper  out  of  the  past  reached  the  lady 'a 
consciousness. 

"  'Oo  goest  there?  A  stranger,  lord,  from  la-de-de- 
de-de,'  "  she  quoted,  hazily,  with  a  smile  that  lent  her 
extract  some  point.  "You  an'  me '11  be  friends,  all  right. 
You'll  'ave  to  call  me  *Ma'  like  the  rest  of  'em.  Down 
'ere,  an'  mind  th'  broken  lino.  It's  tripped  me  up  an 
'undred  times,  but  I  allays  f  ergit  to  'ave  the  dratted  thing 
mended.  It's  dark,  an'  a  bit  narrer.  The  'ouse  wasn't 
built  to  my  measure,  not  by  no  manner  o'  means."  She 
wheezed  and  laughed  at  her  own  patter  as  she  heavily 
lowered  herself  from  stair  to  stair  to  the  dining-room. 

After  the  meal,  Peter  found  that  the  traveler  had 
gone  out.  Ma  explained  that  he  had  gone  to  the  theater 
to  see  if  there  were  any  "call." 

"A  neart-breaker,  that  lad,"  she  continued.  **Lord, 
don't  I  know  the  signs!  'E'll  'ave  arf  the  women  of 
Melbourne  buy  in'  'is  pitcher.  An'  Ma  Chuff '11  be 
one  o'  th'  fust,  bless  'im,"  she  concluded,  emphati- 
cally, 

"He's  one  of  the  finest  chaps  in  the  world,"  Peter  in- 
formed her.     "You  wait  till  you  know  him  better." 

"Ho,  I'm  willin'  to  take  'm  without  ref'rences, 
dearie.  'E  '11  do  me.  Sentimental  ole  fool,  I  am.  Well, 
what  I  allays  ses  is,  sentiment  makes  the  world  go  round'. 
A  kiss  is  better 'n  a  kick  be'ind,  any  day  in  the  week. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         125 

An'  fer  all  me  fat,  Ma's  'ad  'er  share  of  the  kisses,  pet, 
an'  eharnce  it." 

''I'll  bet  you  have,"  Peter  agreed,  **and  if  I  wasn't 
a  fathead,  I'd  risk  Chuff  and  give  you  one." 

*'You  wicked  little  devil!  Where  do  you  learn  all 
this?  If  you  go  'intin'  things  like  that,  I'll  'ave  to  tell 
Marg'ret." 

Peter  flushed  scarlet,  after  his  manner,  and  Mrs.  Chuff, 
who  knew  no  reticences,  laughed  till  she  coughed. 

"Bless  the  boy,  can't  I  mention  'er  name,  without 
you  turnin'  all  colors?  'Ere,  if  you're  goin'  to  loaf 
in  my  kitchen,  jest  beat  up  them  eggs  there,  be  your 
elber." 

The  bell  rang.     Mrs,  Chuff  sighed. 

*'  'Silence  that  dretful  bell,'  "  she  quoted,  with  sur- 
prising aptness.  "An'  Annie  a-cleanin'  herself.  Poor 
oleMa!  Them  stairs '11  be  the  death  o' me.  Wy  can't 
people  learn  to  come  roun'  to  the  side  door?" 

"  I  '11  go  up, ' '  offered  Peter.     "  I  '11  say  I  'm  the  butler. ' ' 

"Hif  you  sed  you  was  a  hangel,  there 'd  be  folks 
believe  it.  Go  on,  dearie.  If  it's  the  gas,  the  money's 
in  a  screw  o'  paper  inside  the  meter-box.  Bless  me, 
it's  more  like  to  be  Mr.  Lee.  Silly  ole  fool,  I  clean 
f ergot  to  give  'im  a  latchkey." 

It  was  Philip,  excited,  talkative,  bursting  with  sur- 
pressed  information. 

"I've  seen  her,  Peter — actually  in  the  flesh,  and  not 
fifty  yards  from  this  very  house,"  he  cried. 

"Seen  who?"  asked  Peter,  ungrammatically. 

"Her — the  authentic,  only  Girl,  you  ass.  The  Girl 
I've  been  waiting  for,"  Philip  said,  impatiently. 

"Well,  if  you  waited  for  her,  of  course  you  saw 
her,"  said  Peter.     "What's  her  name?" 

"How  in  blazes  should  I  know?  I  don't  go  up  to 
a  strange  girl  in  the  street  and  say,  'Excuse  me,  but 
I've  got  a  blithering  friend  who'll  be  sure  to  ask  me 
your  name.     What  is  it?'  " 

"Why  wait  for  a  girl  whose  name  you  don't  even 
know?"  asked  the  "blithering  friend." 

"I  didn't  wait  for  her,  confound  you." 


126         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

**You  said  you  did.  And  if  so,  you  might  speak. 
Why  not  tell  her  that  she's — what  was  it? — the 
Authentic  Girl?  She  might  like  to  know,  to  tell  her 
people."  Peter  had  a  gift  of  quiet  satire,  when  he 
chose. 

^  ''Shut  your  sarcastic  head,"  invited  Philip,  **and 
listen  to  me.  I  must  find  out  who  she  is.  She  got  off 
my  tram,  just  where  I  did.     She  must  live  near." 

"Why  didn't  you  follow  her?" 

** Don't  be  more  of  an  ass  than  you  can  help.  Fol- 
low her !  She  went  up  to  that  pillar-box  on  the  corner 
and  posted  a  letter." 

"Well,  that  ends  it,  unless  you  go  and  camp  by  the 
box  till  she  posts  another.     It  may  be  a  habit." 

"You're  an  unsympathetic  beggar,  I've  been  wait- 
ing for  this  girl  for  years,  Peter.  Look  here,  old  son, 
grin  if  you  like,  sneer  if  you  must,  but  by  hookey!  I'm 
going  to  marry  that  girl." 

"Unless  she's  married  already — or  engaged,"  amended 
the  practical  Peter. 

"Good  Lord!  I  never  thought  of  that."  Philip  was 
dashed  for  a  moment.  "No,  she  can't  be.  A  girl 
couldn't  be  made  for  me,  and  then  snapped  up  by  another 
fellow.     There  must  be  some  system  in  the  world." 

"There  is,"  agreed  Peter;  "but  mightn't  the  other 
fellow  come  into  it?  There's  the  bare  possibility  you 
weren't  made  for  her,  old  chap." 

"You're  a  poor-spirited,  gloomy  flathead,  Wister. 
I'm  going  to  marry  her,  I  tell  you." 

"If  you  find  her,"  Philip  finished. 

"Oh,  I'll  find  her  fast  enough,"  was  the  confident 
reply. 

"What  was  she  like?"  asked  Peter.  They  were  by 
this  time  in  Phil's  room.  Peter  sat  on  the  bed,  while 
his  friend  shoved  ties,  sox,  and  collars  indiscriminately 
into  drawers. 

"Like?  Have  you  ever  seen  sweetness  and  serenity, 
strength  and  intelligence,  fun  and  daring  incarnated 
in  a  body  whose  beauty " 

"Help!"  from  Peter.     "No  more,  Phil.     It's  simple 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        127 

as  A.B.C.  Advertise.  Advertise  for  a  lady  last  seen 
getting  off  a  tram  in  Gisborne  Street,  East  Melbourne,  ac- 
companied by  sweetness  and — er — serenity,  strength 
and " 

Philip  stifled  the  rest  with  a  pillow,  and  what  fol- 
lowed was  a  riot.  They  forgot  the  years  between,  and 
became  schoolboy  spirits. 

Then  they  brushed  their  untidy  hair  with  Phil's 
brushes.     Peter  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You  and  your  girls!"  he  said,  with  scorn.  **Come 
with  me  and  I'll  show  you  a  girl."  He  opened  the 
door. 

"Where  are  you  off  to?"  Phil  wished  to  know, 

Peter  surprised  him.     Peter  had  developed  amazingly. 

"Contentment  Road,"  he  answered.  "Come  on. 
She'll  be  back  by  now.  We've  just  time,  before  she 
begins  to  dress  for  dinner." 

Philip  followed  Peter  upstairs,  and,  after  the  neces- 
sary permission  had  been  given,  into  the  blue  daintiness 
of  Margaret's  room. 

"This  is  Philip,  Margaret,"  he  said. 

But  Philip  was  wordless.  He  stared,  with  his  heart 
in  his  eyes,  at  the  girl — the  Authentic  Girl.  It  was  some 
seconds  before  he  remembered  his  manners. 

"Lee  is  the  rest  of  it,  in  case  you're  interested.  Peter 
would  never  think  of  a  little  thing  like  that,  Miss " 

"He  wouldn't,"  agreed  Margaret;  "and  Gillies  is 
the  rest  of  it,  Mr,  Lee,  in  case  you're  interested." 

That  was  their  meeting. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  Phil,  Margaret,"  Peter  ex- 
plained.   "He's  just  seen  the  girl  he's " 

"Shut  up,  you  ass.  Miss  Gillies,  don't  you  find 
Peter  is  rather  a  blatant  sort  of  person  at  times?" 

"He  needs  squashing,"  she  affirmed.  "He  talks  too 
much.     I  like  a  quieter  person  myself." 

"You'll  like  me,  then,"  he  told  her.  "I  seldom 
speak," 

"Don't  you  find  that  go  against  you  in  your  profes- 
sion? You're  an  actor,  aren't  you?"  she  asked 
demurely.    "Or  does   the  high  price  per  word  your 


128        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

salary  represents  limit  the  vocabulary  for  private 
consumption?" 

"I  see  Peter  has  mentioned  me,"  he  inferred. 

"If  you  call  it  'mention,'  when  he  has  told  me  the 
most  intimate  facts  of  your  life,  infancy,  middle-  and 
old-age.  He  may  have  left  out  a  childish  ailment  or 
two,  but  I  know  of  the  pony,  the  scholarship,  oh,  an' 
ev  'rything. ' ' 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Philip,  in  consternation. 
Then:  "He  brought  me  up,  Miss  Gillies,  and  you  must 
pardon  the  exaggerated  idea  a  parent  has  of  the  interest 
of  bored  third  parties." 

"Oh,  I  made  all  allowance,  Mr.  Lee.  Peter  grows 
lyric  so  seldom  that  when  he  does  he  lends  a  fictitious 
interest  even  to  a  commonplace  subject. ' ' 

Vaguely  she  resented  the  surcness  in  his  manner; 
faintly  she  sensed  a  patronage  of  Peter,  and  her  words 
carried  a  tiny  point.  She  may  have  been  right,  but 
the  first  person  to  be  horrified  at  the  idea  that  he  had 
always  unconsciously  accepted  Peter's  admiration  as  a 
right,  would  have  been  Philip.  His  affection  for  his 
chum  was  beyond  all  cavil  or  doubt.  He  leaned  on  his 
strength,  in  fact.  Was  it  possible  that  there  was  an 
unspoken,  almost  unthought  ghost  of  an  idea  in  his 
mind  that  the  prop  of  a  great  man  is  rather  distinguished 
by  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  for  service  ? 

She  carried  it  lightly,  however,  and,  sensitive  as  he 
was  to  ridicule  or  blame,  he  only  saw  playful  bandinage 
in  her  gibe. 

Peter's  eyes,  as  he  watched  them  fence,  held  nothing 
but  whole-hearted  admiration  for  both.  He  and  Mar- 
garet had  become  great  friends.  He  had  not  the  least 
idea,  as  yet,  that  the  world  for  him  was  a  fragrant,  de- 
sirable place,  just  because  it  held  this  wonderful  per- 
sonality. In  a  vague  way  he  felt  that  somehow  or  other 
he  must  manage  to  walk  in  her  friendly  company  down 
Contentment  Road,  ready  equally  for  ser\nce  or  efface- 
mcnt,  whichever  would  pleasure  her.  Further  than  that 
he  did  not  look. 

And  now  he  was  glowing  with  pride  at  exhibiting 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         129 

his  two  paragons  to  each  other.  Philip  would  be  a  wel- 
come third  in  their  arrangements. 

"We  must  be  there  for  the  First  Night,"  he  broke  in; 
**will  you  be  nervous,  old  chap?"  he  wished  to  know. 

''As  a  kitten,"  Phil  confessed,  "In  fact,  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  want  you  to  come,  Peter — nor  Miss  Gillies. 
I  think  I'd  feel  better  without  friends." 

"There  are  two  sides  to  that,  Mr.  Lee,"  Margaret 
argued,  with  a  bright  smile.  "We  might  make  you 
nervous,  but  if  we  brought  Ma  and  the  rest,  what  a 
formidable  'claque'  we  would  form!  I'm  not  sure  the 
management  wouldn't  give  us  free  seats.  *  Applause 
was  deafening  and  continuous  during  the  whole  of  Mr. 
Lee's  great  speeches,'  she  quoted  from  an  imaginary 
newspaper,  *  especially  from  one  portion  of  the  gallery.* 
Still,  I  suppose  we  couldn't  cheer  right  through  the 
speeches.  It  would  show  great  affection  for  you,  but 
little  appreciation  of  the  great  Dumas." 

"You  decide  me,"  laughed  Philip.  "You  must  cer- 
tainly be  there,  and  I  shall  strain  my  ears  for  the 
applause  from  one  portion  of  the  gallery." 

"It's  a  bargain,  then,"  she  promised.  *'What  are 
you  going  to  be — D'Artagnan?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh — I  love  him,"  she  cried;  "but  why  do  they 
cut  out  his  yellow  horse?  Please  have  a  yellow  horse, 
Mr.  Lee." 

"No.  D'Artagnan  must  swagger.  A  hero  on  a 
yellow  horse!  It  may  be  life,  but  it  isn't  Eomance," 
objected  Philip. 

"How  dare  you  say  that?  Life  is  Eomance  she 
insisted.     "Isn't  it,  Peter?" 

"With  you  it  would  be,"  replied  that  amazing  per- 
sonage, Mr.  Wister,  and  straightway  turned  a  beautiful 
pink,  that  ran  slowly  from  his  neek  to  his  temples.  It 
was  folly,  but  he  never  knew  lately  when  he  would  utter 
some  such  absurdity;  hardly  knew  he  had  done  it,  till 
it  was  out,  thundering  on  the  air,  echoing  horribly  for 
what  seemed  hours. 

"Now  that's  very  pretty  of  you,  Peter,"  she  thanked 


130         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

him,  with  a  warm  smile.  **You  are  coming  on  splen- 
didly." 

This  was  a  new  Peter  to  his  friend,  who  looked  at 
him  with  curiosity.  The  remark  -was  not  Peterish  at 
all.  Who  had  been  teaching  him  this  readiness  of 
speech?    "Was  it  possible ? 

** You've  broken  out  in  a  new  place,  old  chap,"  he 
said. 

"And  a  very  pleasant  place,  too,"  commended  Mar- 
garet. **You  musn't  tease  him,  when  I've  had  such 
trouble  to  get  him  out  of  his  old  ways.  For  a  long 
time  he  never  said  a  nice  thing  to  me,  but  now  he's 
human.  He  sutferes  normally  from  a  disease  I  call 
"Wisteria." 

"Wisteria!"  Phil  repeated,  with  an  interrogative 
lift  in  his  voice.  Peter  smiled,  and  told  them  to  "drop 
it,  and  give  a  fellow  a  chance," 

"Not  the  flower,"  she  explained.  "Wisteria  is  a 
complaint  recently  discovered  by  an  eminent  pathologist. 
Its  sjTnptoms  are  a  chronic  desire  to  avoid  human  com- 
pany, a  nervous  irritability  at  being  forced  to  be  merry 
and  bright,  and  a  disinclination  to  pay  pretty  compli- 
ments to  people  who  are  suffering  such  deprivation.  We 
have  discovered  that  Wisteria  is  curable,  haven't  we, 
Peter?" 

"You'll  end  by  making  me  so  forward,  I'll  have  to 
be  slapped,"  he  grinned. 

"Never  while  you  say  nice  things  like  you  did  just 
now,"  she  promised.  "What  a  digression  from  Mr. 
Lee's  affairs!  When  do  you  open?  I  never  look  at  the 
papers." 

"Not  for  a  fortnight." 

"Oh,  goody.  In  that  case,  I'm  going  to  ask  you  and 
Peter  to  come  in  and  meet  some  friends  of  mine.  I 
wondered  if  you'd  have  a  free  night." 

* '  Any  night. ' '  With  flattering  promptness  he  assigned 
his  liberty. 

"All  right.  I'll  let  you  know.  Hope  you  won't  be 
bored.    We  all  talk  about  our  own  work,  but  we  don't 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         131 

listen  to  each  other,  because  we're  husy  thinking  out 
the  next  remark  we'll  make  about  our  masterpieces  when 
the  horrible  bore  opposite  stops  talking  about  his  own 
drivel.     Does  the  prospect  attract  you?' 

"Enormously.  You  see,  I  don't  have  to  think  out 
bits.  My  own  ego  is  so  handy,  that  I  can  appear  to  take 
an  interest  in  the  other  chap,  while  a  clever  remark  is  all 
ready-made  to  pop  out,  when  his  babble  ceases." 

"In  this  case,  the  'other  chap'  may  be  a  girl." 

"The  principle  holds.  Nothing  takes  my  real  mind 
off  my  own  concerns.     It's  quite  simple." 

"You're  writing  a  play,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes.  Peter  again,  I  suppose.  I  wish  he'd  have 
a  relapse  into  that  "Wisteria  of  his." 

"You  don't  mean  that.  Perhaps  I'm  boring  you  in 
talking  about  your  work?"  She  twinkled  gravely.  He 
smiled. 

"Don't  be  nasty,"  he  begged.  "I'm  happiest  when 
I  am  talking  about  myself." 

"Are  you — is  it — strictly  private,  or  do  you  ever 
take  counsel  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"I  take  counsel,  when  counsel  promises  not  to  be 
bored,  or  to  think  me  a  conceited  ass,"  he  said.  "But 
I  want  real  criticism." 

"I  know.  I've  met  lots  of  artists.  They  all  ask  for 
real  criticism.  Once  I  gave  it.  He  never  comes  to  see 
me  now.  You  see,  if  3^our  criticism  is  favorable,  it  is 
real,  it  is  honest;  but  if  it  hurts,  it's  unintelligent  flap- 
doodle. I  know.  The  only  person  I  really  hate  is  a 
once  dear  friend  of  mine,  who  thought  I  ought  to  be 
designing  Jam-tins,  instead  of  painting  miniatures.  Now 
I'm  going  to  promise  you  that  I  won't  criticise  you." 

"You  are  an  understanding  person,"  said  Philip, 
admiringly. 

Peter  broke  into  sudden  laughter. 

"You're  a  witch,  Margaret.  Advice  is  a  thing 
that  fellow  will  never  take,  unless  it  agrees  with  his 
own  determination." 

"What  a  horrid,  natural,  human  person  you're 
turning  out,"  she  smiled. 


132         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Don't  believe  him,  Miss  Gillies.  I  wander  from 
pillar  to  post  in  the  most  aimless  fashion,  simply  because 
I  have  such  a  passion  for  advice  that  I  am  always 
wobbling." 

He  was  an  impressive,  lovable  personality,  as  he  leaned 
forward  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  young,  and  alight  with 
eagerness,  his  whole  being  on  tip-toe.  He  reminded  Mar- 
garet, fantastically  enough,  of  a  bird  poised  for  flight. 

''Are  you  going  to  be  a  great  actor,  Mr.  Lee?"  she 
asked  him,  curiously. 

"There's  nothing  I  want  so  much  in  the  world,"  he 
told  her,  with  emphasis. 

"And  when  he  is  at  the  top,"  jeered  Peter,  "he'll 
look  about,  like  Alexander,  for  fresh  worlds  to  conquer." 

"What  a  jumpy  sort  of  career,"  Margaret  commented. 
"Contentment  Road  will  not  be  your  address,  Mr.  Lee." 

*  *  Contentment  Road  ?    Peter  mentioned  that. ' ' 

"Our  address — Peter's  and  mine,"  she  explained,  and 
Peter's  heart  missed  a  beat  with  the  sudden  delight  of 
hearing  himself  linked  with  her  plans.  "Oh,  a  most 
humdrum  place,  which  would  bore  a  great  man  to  tears. 
You're  to  be  a  very  famous  personage,  living  in — where 
shall  we  say? — 'Hurryon  Avenue.'  Will  the  next  world 
you  will  conquer  be  the  kingdom  where  the  Dramatist 
reigns?" 

"There  is  a  newer  ambition,  which  I  will  give  pride 
of  place,"  he  said,  daringly,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
give  her  a  cue  to  his  meaning. 

"Something  I  have  just  discovered  to  be  infinitely 
preferable.  Till  I  get  that  I'll  postpone  all  other  con- 
quests. ' ' 

"It  sounds  intriguing,"  she  admitted;  "and  what 
happens  to  the  conquered  territory  when  you  marshal 
all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men,  and  ride 
off  on  a  new  quest?  Is  it  reduced  utterly,  and  left  to 
languish  in  poverty  and  ashes?" 

"It  is  forgotten,  I  suppose,"  he  acknowledged.  "A 
man  has  to  make  progress." 

"Perhaps  the  destruction  marks  the  progress,"  she 
suggested. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         133 

** There  is  no  destruction,"  he  told  her.  ** Aban- 
donment, if  you  like.  You  couldn't  expect  a  fellow 
to  stagnate  in  a  rut,  when  he  might  lift  himself  out, 
and  pick  a  better  road?  It  is  neck-or-nothing  with  me. 
I  fight  till  I  win." 

"You  always  did  that  Phil.  At  college  you  were 
noted  for  it."  Peter  could  always  be  trusted  to  remem- 
ber anj'thing  that  would  embellish  a  record. 

*'You  spoke  of  marshaling  the  king's  horses  and  the 
king's  men.  Did  you  mean  anything  by  that?"  asked 
Philip. 

''You  mean — Humpty-Dumpty ? "  she  inquired.  He 
nodded. 

"Not  the  least  hint,"  she  protested;  "but  I  do  think 
— this  is  terrible  cheek  of  me "     She  paused. 

"Not  a  bit — go  on,"  he  urged. 

"Well,  I  think  the  fate  of  Humpty  might  follow — 
how  shall  I  put  it? — say,  too  much  diffused  effort.  Can 
you  afford  to  succeed  in  one  thing  and  then  calmly  jet- 
tison it,  and  take  up  another?  Isn't  it  rather  unfair 
to  the  props  by  which  you  rise?" 

"Why  on  earth  should  it  be?  The  stage  doesn't  shut 
up  shop,  if  I  decide  to  leave  it.  It's  the  fight  that  in- 
terests me.  I'm  willing  to  leave  the  prize  to  the  mer- 
cenaries. I  fight  to  win,  and  in  the  winning  I  get  all 
Life  has  to  offer. 

"You  fight  and  ride  away.  It  almost  sounds  like 
loving  and  riding  away.  I  don't  like  it,  somehow,  Mr. 
Lee.  I  mean  as  a  philosophy  of  life.  Nothing  personal. 
To  keep  you  nice  and  normal,  one  ought  to  pray  that 
you  never  make  a  big  success." 

"But  not  to  succeed  would  be  tragedy.  Surely  failure 
in  life  is  unpardonable,"  he  argued. 

"It  depends,"  she  said.  "Some  kinds  of  success  are 
dire  failures.  Isn't  there  a  tragedy  in  the  wrong  kind 
of  success?" 

"Now  you're  getting  ethical,"  he  said,  and  got  up. 
"My  argument  deals  with  life  as  it  is,  not  as  it  should 
be."  Peter  rose,  too,  pleased  at  the  mutual  interest 
these  two  took  in  each  other.    That  the  talk  had  passed 


134.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

from  light  flippancy  to  earnestness  had  made  him  feel 
specially  delighted.  Margaret  was  best,  when  she  passed 
beneath  the  surface  of  things.  Philip  shook  hands,  as 
he  stood  by  the  open  door. 

* 'We'll  have  some  more  talk,  please,"  he  begged, 
*'and  I'll  promise  to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  the  things 
I  destroy  on  the  mad  march  to  victory." 

''If  they're  not  pieces  of  Humpty  himself,"  she  said, 
W'ith  a  gravity  that  made  her  sweetness  maturer,  almost 
maternal. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"The  Queen  was  in  her  chamber,  and  she  was  middling  old, 
Her  petticoat   was  satin,  and   her  stomacher  was  gold. 
Backwards  and  forwards  and  sideways  did  she  pass, 
Making  up   her  mind  to  face  the  cruel  looking-glass. 
The   cruel    looking-glass   that   xvill  never  show   a   lass 
As  comely  or  as  kindly  or  as  young  as  what  she  was." 

— TnE  Looking-glass 

MRS.  LEE  had  found  the  middle  period  of  life 
extremely  pleasant.  In  a  tiny  flat,  which  an 
infantile  prodigy  of  a  servant  managed  with 
ease,  and  her  mistress  along  with  it,  she  found  that  her 
income  sufficed  her  needs. 

She  had  the  most  indefinite  ideas  of  current  affairs. 
Only  Column  One,  Page  One  of  the  conservative  news- 
paper she  took  in  interested  her.  It  contained  the  sole 
news  that  is  really  important  to  anyone — births,  deaths, 
and  marriages.  At  fifty-odd,  one  outgrows  enthusiasms ; 
she  no  longer  dramatized  herself.  It  is  a  sport  that  loses 
its  fascination,  when  the  only  part  left  is  that  of  a  super. 

Her  friends  were  elderly  ladies,  who  had  watched 
events  with  a  growing  conviction  that  things  were  not 
as  they  used  to  be,  tea  and  toasted  muffins  excepted. 

Her  religion  was  a  tepid  affair.  God  was  a  gentleman. 
To  say  that  was  to  say  all.  He  was  very  unlikely  to 
act  towards  her  in  a  manner  inconsistent  with  the  best 
usages.  She  attended  an  Anglican  Church,  whose  clergy- 
man, an  English  Public  School  man,  thoroughly  coin- 
cided in  her  views  about  the  Almighty.  She  fed  him 
periodically  with  weak  tea  and  toast,  and  chatted  with 
him  on  the  more  social  aspects  of  Heaven.  In  return 
he  told  her  mild  stories  of  his  more  unregenerate  days, 
and  glowed  with  pleasure  when  she  "tut-tutted." 

135 


136        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

In' Philip's  home-coming  she  tried  to  rejoice.  But 
after  the  first  pride  of  showing  him  off  had  worn  away, 
she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  an  intrusive  note  in  her 
existence. 

To-day  he  was  to  bring  a  friend,  a  girl,  a  Miss — what 
was  the  name  ?  It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  Names 
were  so  diff — oh,  yes,  Gilllllan.  No,  that  wasn't  it.  She 
had  known  some  Gilflllans  somewhere — where  was  it? 
On  the  Continent,  she  thought.  The  Continent!  What 
a  good  time  she  had  had  on  the  Continent,  before  that 
horrible  woman — she  wondered  whether  Lady  Lee  was 
still  alive,  and  what  had  become  of  that  boy  of  hers. 
After  all  it  was  curious  that  Philip  had  heard  nothing 
of  them  when  he  was  at  Eton.  Eton !  Had  it  been  a 
mistake  to  send  him  there,  after  all?  But  his  father 
would  have  it.  He  was  a  headstrong  man,  always. 
He  would  never  listen  to  her  about  stud  sheep 

She  mused  characteristically,  her  mind  tangentially 
darting  off  to  a  new  topic  suggested  by  the  last. 

And  this  girl !  Surely  it  was  not  her  place  to  pay 
the  first  call !  She  should  have  w^aited  till  Mrs.  Lee 
had  taken  the  first  step.  It  was  all  part  of  the  looseness 
of  these  Colonial  ways.  They  had  not  been  brought  up 
properly.  Who  was  she  after  all  ?  She  had  never  heard 
of  any  Gilruths,  had  she?  Or  hadn't  she?  Weren't 
those  people  at  Bournemouth  named  Gilruth?  Horrid 
people.  Perhaps  this  girl  was  a  daughter?  No,  that 
wasn't  the  name — Gilray,  no —  Gildea.  After  all,  it 
didn't  matter;  but  she  wished  they'd  come  and  get  it 
over.  Was  Philip  engaged  to  her?  He  was  far  too 
young,  just  a  boy.  But  he  was  quite  a  famous  person. 
Even  Mr.  Bright,  the  clergyman,  had  talked  about  his 
acting.  In  a  guarded  way,  of  course,  not  enough  to 
commit  the  Church. 

Philip's  ring  disturbed  her  meditations.  She  looked 
through  the  asparagus  screen  that  filtered  the  hot  sun- 
light into  the  room. 

Good  Heavens!  A  carriage!  And  an  old  lady;  well, 
not  old,  perhaps,  but  surely  Philip  was  not  engaged  to 
her!    Oh,  no.    There  was  a  girl.    H'm!    Very  pretty, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         137 

no  doubt,  but  too  self-possessed.  A  little  nervousness 
would  be  more  becoming, 

Gertrude,  the  prodigy,  inserted  her  meagre  body, 
tying  on  a  clean  apron,  and  speaking  with  a  bit  in  her 
teeth,  in  the  shape  of  a  long  pin  that  was  going  to 
transfix  her  cap  when  she'd  got  them  dratted  strings  tied 
proper. 

She  made  explanatory  noises,  and  her  bit  dropped  out 
and  metallically  "pinged"  on  the  polished  floor. 

*  *  Lor  'm !  It 's  a  kerridge ! ' '  she  was  at  last  understood 
to  announce.    "I  seen  it  fr'm  the  bathroom." 

The  bell  pealed  again. 

"Keep  yer  'air  on!  I'm  comin'  fast  as  ever  I  can," 
muttered  the  young  lady,  giving  a  vicious  dig  to  her 
cap  with  the  recaptured  pin.  Then  she  darted  out  to 
open  the  door. 

Mrs.  Redfern,  the  sister  of  the  deceased  Attorney- 
General,  with  pennons  fluttering  from  expensive  hat  and 
ample  waist,  and  carrying  a  full  cargo  in  the  shape  of 
a  Pom,  was  majestically  warped  into  port,  and  moored 
to  a  chair,  previously  taking  a  salute  from  her  hostess, 
who  hadn't  the  least  idea  who  she  was.  Then  came  the 
girl,  and  after  her  Philip,  dynamic,  breezy,  ebullient. 
Gertrude,  the  small  tug,  cast  oif  from  Mrs.  Redfern,  and 
steamed  into  some  dock  of  her  own,  in  the  kitchen. 

Philip  came  to  the  rescue. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Redfern,  Mater,  and  this  is  Miss  Gillies." 
(So  it  did  have  a  Gil  in  it;  she  knew  it.) 

"Ut's  a  tr-r-emendous  pleasur-r-e  for-r-me  to  meet 
you,  Mrs.  Lee,"  said  Mrs.  Redfern,  whose  Scotch  voice, 
losing  nothing  of  its  native  charm,  had  a  soft  purr  in  it, 
like  smooth,  well-oiled  machinery,  all  on  one  note.  When 
she  stopped  speaking,  it  was  like  a  machine  running 
down.  "We  ar-r-e  all  such  adrair-r-ers  of  you-r-wonder- 
-r-ful  boy.  Such  a  success!  You  must  be  pr-r-oud  of 
him." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  wonder- 
ing if  Gertrude  was  using  the  best  China  tea.  "Of 
course  it  was  a  great  disappointment  to  us,  I  mean  to 
me.    It  would  have  been  to  his  father  if  he  had  lived. 


138         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Not  that  I  dislike  plays,  far  from  it.  "When  I  was  a 
girl  at  school  we  used  to  do  French  plays,  very  differ- 
ent from  the  things  tlicy  do  now,  and  I  remember  going 
to  'The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,'  in  London,  and  liking 
it ;  not  that  women  like  that  interest  me,  only  you  must 
hear  both  sides  after  all.  London  theatres  are  educating 
in  a  way,  though  I  suppose  education  is  not  everything. 
I  remember  my  husband  was  a  great  believer " 

Mrs.  Lee  might  have  got  from  Philip's  success  to 
the  state  of  morals  in  Kamchatka,  if  the  tea  and  Ger- 
trude had  not  simultaneously  switched  her  thoughts. 
She  whispered  rapidly  to  the  handmaid,  evidently  a 
question  about  the  China  tea,  for  that  damsel  answered 
brightly. 

' '  I  dunno.  It  was  the  yellow  stuff  in  the  small  caddy 
on  the  lef  'and  side  o'  the  mantelpiece."  She  put 
down  the  tray,  and  turned  to  Philip. 

*'I  seen  you  th'  other  night.  Mist'  Lee.  You  was 
being  Dartygan.  Me  an'  another  young  lady  was  in  the 
front  row  of  th'  gall'ry.    We  waved  to  you.    See  us?" 

"That  will  do,  Gertrude,"  said  her  mistress. 

"I  must  have  missed  you,  Gertrude,"  said  Philip. 
""Wave  harder  next  time." 

**My  word,  I  will.  There's  more  'ot  water  on  the 
gas-stove,  an'  will  you  be  wantin'  more  scones?  'Cos 
the  baker's  there  now,  an'  it's  arf  'oliday  to-morrer." 

"He'll  have  gone,  if  you  don't  hurry,  Gertrude," 
Mrs.  Lee  said,  in  an  agony. 

"Not  'im.  'E  always  stops  for  a  bit  of  a  chin.  I 
wouldn't  arf  tell  'im  of,  if  'e  went.  Well,  two  loaves, 
I  s'pose." 

"Yes.    I'll  ring  if  I  want  you,  Gertrude." 

"The  bell's  broke.  But  I'll  'ear  you,  if  you  call. 
We'll  only  be  in  the  yard."  She  vanished,  with  a  com- 
prehensive smile  that  bade  them  all  kindly  welcome  to 
come  again.    Margaret  laughed  joyously. 

"What  a  treasure,  Mrs.  Lee!"  she  said.  "I  envy  you. 
Auntie  will  be  slipping  out  to  bribe  her  away  from  you." 

"Entirely  savage,"  explained  Mrs.  Lee,  busj'-  with 
the  tea-pot.    "But  Australian  servants  are  terrible.    Do 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         139 

you  remember  Bertha,  Philip?  No;  you  wouldn't  be 
likely  to.  It  was  before  you  were  born.  Strong  or  weak, 
Mrs.  er — Kenfrew?" 

"Str-r-ong,  Ah-pr-r-ef er-r-ut, "  whirred  the  visitor. 

"I've  just  got  a  dim  recollection,  Mater,"  Philip  said. 

**I  don't  think  so,  dear,"  his  mother  gently  insisted. 
"But  memory  is  a  funnj'-  thing.  "Weak  or  strong,  Miss 
Gilmore  ? "  Philip  looked  in  a  resigned  way  at  Margaret, 
who  plumped  for  weak  tea. 

"Yes,  it's  funny.  "We  had  a  gardener  once — do  you 
care  for  gardening,  Miss  Gilruth?"  The  story  of  the 
gardener  was  still-born. 

"Gillies,  Mater,"  corrected  Philip. 

"Why  don't  j'ou  listen,  darling?"  she  asked,  without 
bitterness.  "Gillies,  I  said,"  she  concluded,  firmly. 
"And  sugar  and  milk?"  without  a  change  of  voice. 

"Both,  please.  I  adore  it,  Mrs.  Lee;  but  in  a  city 
boarding-house  one  gets  so  few  opportunities,"  Margaret 
began,  taking  up  the  thread  she  could  catch. 

"Why,  haven't  the  stores  plenty?"  her  hostess  asked, 
vaguely. 

"Oh,  I  was  talking  of  gardening.  Aunt  Bessie," 
her  explanatory  look  at  Mrs,  Redfern  turned  Mrs,  Lee's 
gaze  politely  towards  that  excellent  bit  of  stopped 
machinery,  "Aunt  Bessie  has  a  glorious  garden,  and 
now  and  then  her  gardeners  allow  her  to  have  a  tiny 
posy  out  of  it.    Otherwise  they're  very  strict." 

"How  nice!"  Mrs.  Lee  rejoined,  vaguely,  Philip  was 
busy  with  the  cups  and  muffins.  As  he  handed  the  plate 
to  Margaret,  that  vulgar  person  deliberately  winked  at 
him.  His  preternatural  solemnity,  which  was  his  only 
buckler  against  disgrace,  failed  him.  He  bubbled  into 
a  laugh,  which  Margaret  covered. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Lee  act?"  she  asked. 

"Not  yet,"  replied  his  mother.  "It's  the  swords. 
I  can't  endure  fighting.  One  day  they'll  cut  themselves, 
and  the  authorities  will  step  in.  It  was  the  same  all 
my  life.  I've  got  to  look  away  when  they  fight  duels, 
and  they're  always  doing  it  in  this  play.  I've  read  the 
book.     I'm  reading  such  a  charming  book  now.  Miss 


140        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Gil-Gillies,"  and  she  let  a  severe  look  rest  just  a  moment 
on  Philip,  to  mark  her  achievement.  "I  wonder  if 
you've  read  it.  It's  by — I  forget  his  name;  but  this 
man — the  man  he's  writing  about,  don't  you  know — 
but  you  probably  know  the  story  better  than  I,  and 
don't  you  think  it's  pathetic  where  she  tells  him  it  can 
never  be  1  And — oh,  Philip,  such  a  funny  thing,  talking 
of  books !"  She  broke  off  her  thome,  with  gentle  anima- 
tion. ''That  Dr.  PajTie,  who  used  to  live  in  Dcniliquin, 
and  whom  your  dear  father  never  could  bear,  and  I 
know  he  attended  him  once  for  some  complaint  or  other, 
bronchitis,  I  think,  or  if  it  wasn't,  it  was  gout — no,  it 
was  influenza,  because  I  remember  it  was  the  time  three 
cows  died  of  the  same  thing,"  she  said,  in  a  triumphant 
burst  of  inconsequent  memory.     "That  wa.s  the  man." 

*'AYell,  what  about  him.  Mater?"  asked  Philip,  firmly 
leading  her  back  to  the  track. 

"I'm  just  telling  you,  dear,"  she  reproached  him. 
"He's  living  next  door.     He's  bought  a  practice.'* 

"Payne!"  echoed  Philip.  "By  Jove!  that's  news. 
Peter  will  be  as  pleased  as  Punch.  A  splendid  chap," 
he  turned  to  Margaret.  "You'll  like  him.  He's  your 
sort." 

The  machine  began  with  a  preliminary  click. 

"I  wonder  is  he  r-heumatism?  I'm  simply  a  mar-r- 
tyr-r  to  r-r-heumatism,  Mrs.  Lee,"  said  Mrs.  Redfern. 

"How  very  peculiar,"  replied  Mrs.  Lee,  M-ith  the 
first  look  of  real  interest  she  had  exhibited.  "So  am  I. 
Do  you  get  funny  little  crawling  pains  in  your  knees?" 

"Like  spiders  biting  inside  the  skin,  and  itching  on 
the  outside?"  inquired  Mrs.  Redfern,  breathlessly. 

"Yes,"  corroborated  Philip's  mother,  in  a  gentle 
shout. 

"Ay — do  I,"  said  the  * mar-r-tyr-r, '  feelingly,  and 
abruptly  hitched  her  chair  nearer.  She  had  come  to 
call  on  a  stranger,  and  behold,  by  the  alchemy  of  a 
common  enthusiasm,  a  sister !  And  some  people  wonder 
why  God  sends  trouble! 

*'* They've  clicked,"  whispered  Philip,  delightedly. 
Margaret  handed  him  her  empty  cup. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         141 

"Don't  interrupt  them,"  she  signaled,  in  answer  to 
his  offer  of  replenishment.  "I'd  go  thirsty  as  a  camel 
to  give  Aunty  the  pure  pleasure  she's  enjoying.  Your 
mother  is  a  darling,  Mr.  Lee." 

"You  can't  continue  to  call  the  beloved  son  of  a 
darling  mother  'Mr.  Lee,'  surely?" 

"But  I've  only  known  you  a  month,"  she  argued. 

"In  this  incarnation,"  he  amended. 

"Hearsay  evidence  is  not  admissible,"  she  reminded 
him.  "Let's  stick  to  things  we're  sure  of.  I  can't  go 
Christian-naming  all  the  sons  of  Creation,  however  be- 
loved— ^by  their  mothers,"  she  made  hasty  ending. 

"Of  course  not.  And  so  I'll  only  expect  you  to  do 
it  in  this  one  instance,"  he  begged.  "We  really  have 
come  to  a  dead  end  on  'Miss'  and  'Mr.'  And  you  did  it 
to  Peter." 

*  *  Oh,  Peter 's  different.  Peter 's  a  man  and  a  brother, ' ' 
she  explained. 

"I'm  so  satisfied  to  be  a  man  that  I  don't  in  the 
least  wish  to  be  a  brother,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"But  I  do  want  you  to  call  me  Philip." 

"It's  a  bargain,"  she  agreed. 

"It's  an  instalment  of  the  principal,"  he  substituted. 

"I  owe  you  none,"  she  retorted.  "I'm  not  even 
sure  about  the  interest,  Anyway,  don't  talk  about  in- 
stalments.    I'll  never  be  ready  for  the  payment." 

"Some  day  I'll  draw  a  check  on  your  bank  of  hap- 
piness, and  you  will  have  to  pay  it,"  he  risked,  seeing 
that  the  others  were  absorbed. 

"It  will  be  returned  marked  'No  Account,'  and  you 
will  look  silly." 

"Why  do  you  say  things  like  that  to  me?"  he  inquired. 
"Surely  I  can  bank  there  as  well  as  others?" 

"You're  a  spendthrift  creature  who  will  always  be 
overdrawn,  and  the  bank  tries  to  protect  itself  against 
such  customers."  She  smiled,  but  her  eyes  were  grave. 
She  was  just  beginning  to  realize  that  she  must  protect 
herself  against  the  charm  which  threatened  to  destroy 
her  common  sense.  She  had  weighed  Philip  when  she 
could  do  it  dispassionately,  and  she  had  decided  that 


142        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

she  might  easily  fall  in  love  with  him,  but  that  the 
experiment  would  be  risky.  His  temperament  was  not 
suited  to  Contentment  Road.    Yet,  if  he  pleaded " 

"I  might  give  security,"  he  suggested. 

"Be  satisfied,  Philip,"  she  said,  seriously.  "You 
and  Peter  are  just  infants,  and  I  won't  stand  any 
precocity.  Behave  yourself,  and  don't  spoil  your  tre- 
mendous projects  with  impedimenta.  We'll  have  to  be 
off.  Listen."  She  held  up  a  forefinger  for  silence. 
"Auntie's  rheumatism  is  now  shooting  for  wet  weather. 
Unless  your  mama  can  outdo  that,  the  seance  is  nearing 
its  end.    How  happy  they  are,  the  dear  things!" 

"No  happier  than  I,"  protested  Philip.  "It  was 
angelic  of  you  to  come  this  afternoon.  I  want  you  to 
know  all  my  friends  and  " 

"Not  relatives.  Don't  sa^^  it,"  she  begged.  "I 
couldn't  bear  it.  Fair's  fair.  I've  swapped  my  aunt 
for  your  mother.     We're  square." 

"I  have  no  more,"  he  comforted  her,  "that  is,  except 
in  England." 

"They  don't  count,"  she  said. 

Tjie  absorbing  discussion  was  near  an  end.  Mrs.  Lee 
came  out  of  a  trance  of  happiness.  With  a  warmth  that 
almost  approached  effusiveness,  she  begged  her  guest 
to  let  her  see  more  of  her.  Her  voice  almost  promised 
the  most  luscious  symptoms  for  a  future  meeting. 

"A  charming  woman,  that  Mrs.  Renfrew,"  she  con- 
fided to  Philip,  when  he  returned  for  a  forgotten  parasol. 
"How  funny  her  rheumatism  should  be  the  same  as 
mine." 

"The  finger  of  God,  Mater,"  said  Philip,  solemnly. 

As  they  came  out,  a  small,  neat  motor-car  drove  up, 
and  shoved  its  smelly  bonnet  almost  under  the  fastidious 
noses  of  the  horses. 

"There's  Dr.  Payne  now!"  exclaimed  Philip,  adding, 
in  a  low  voice,  "I  say,  Margaret,  do  let  me  introduce  him; 
I  may  never  have  so  good  a  chance." 

"The  rheumatism  man?"  inquired  Aunt  Bessie.  She 
had  already  endowed  the  doctor  with  this  ailment,  and 
no  alien  specialty  of  Nose  and  Throat,  of  Ear  and  Eye, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         143 

■would  ever  displace  the  line  she  had  willed  upon  him. 
"Dr.  Payne,  you  know,  the  gr-r-eat  r-rheumatism  man," 
she  would  tell  her  friends,  when  speaking  of  him. 

Payne,  hale,  hearty,  clean-shaven,  looking  very  little 
older  than  he  did  twenty  years  before,  jumped  briskly 
from  the  car,  but  wheeled  sharply  as  his  name  was  called. 
He  had  the  alert,  purposeful  air  of  the  man  who  does 
things.    He  looked  blankly  at  Philip. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Dr.  Payne?"  said  the  latter. 
*'You  ought  to.    I'm  one  of  your  babies." 

"Lord,  Lord,  you're  Philip  Lee.  My  housekeeper 
kisses  your  photograph  before  she  goes  to  sleep." 

"Very  nice  of  her,"  grinned  Philip.  "My  mater 
just  told  me  you  were  in  practice  here.  Peter  Wister 
will  start  chasing  his  tail  when  I  tell  him." 

"Peter!  Peter's  coming  out  here  to  dine  to-night. 
I  rang  him  up  to-day.  I've  only  just  settled  in,  you 
see.    You'd  better  join  us.    Dunno  what  we'll  have." 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I've  got  to  be  at  the  theatre  at  7.30," 
explained  Philip. 

"Well,  we  dine  at  six,  so  you'll  manage  all  right," 
the  older  man  said,  heartily.  "Lord,  it  makes  me  feel 
old  to  see  you  youngsters  growing  up.  And  so  you're 
the  famous  actor!  Married?"  He  shot  a  glance  at  the 
carriage. 

"No,  but — come  here  a  minute."  He  led  him  to  the 
curb. 

Margaret  had  watched  with  interest  the  man  who  had 
had  the  vision  for  Peter,  and  had  transformed  it  into 
reality.  She  took  instant  liking  to  his  rugged,  straight- 
forward face,  with  its  gray  crown  of  thick  hair,  showing 
beneath  the  felt  hat.  She  fell  in  love  with  his  jolly 
laugh.  She  shook  hands  warmly,  and  Payne  glanced 
with  admiration,  every  whit  as  keen,  at  her. 

"Dr.  Payne,"  she  said,  with  a  directness  that  was  one 
of  her  greatest  graces,  "I'm  going  to  claim  you  for  a 
friend  right  away.    We're  fellow  artists." 

"Fellow  artists?"  he  queried,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes.  You  made  Peter  Wister  over  from  a  farm- 
hand into  a  very  fine,  natural  gentleman.    I'm  putting 


144        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

a  few  decorative  touches  on  your  work — useless,  but 
ornamental.  Peter  and  I  are  sworn  comrades.  Doesn't 
that  give  me  the  right  to  skip  all  preliminaries  of 
acquaintance?" 

' '  It  certainly  does,  Miss  Gillies.  I  '11  judge  your  handi- 
work to-night.  But  don't  say  I  made  Peter.  He  made 
himself.  I  gave  him  the  initial  idea.  He  was  always 
fine,  but  I  gave  him  an  environment  more  suited  to  him 
than  Jim  Wister's  farm." 

"Come  and  see  hig  environment,"  she  invited.  "We 
live  humbly,  but  Buckingham  Palace  isn't  in  it  with  us 
for  happiness." 

"I'll  come  with  the  greatest  pleasure,"  he  told  her. 

"You  mustn't  neglect  your  r-rheumatie  practice, 
Doctor,"  Mrs.  Redfern  warned  him,  with  massive 
archness. 

"You  must  have  been  talking  with  my  bank  manager, 
Mrs.  Redfern,"  he  said.  "How  else  could  you  know 
it  was  a  rheumatic  practice?" 

"Oh,  I  knew,"  she  triumphed. 

"Well,  I'll  stay,  and  go  right  into  the  theatre  from 
here,"  Philip  said.  Margaret  nodded  gaily,  and  threw 
a  charming  smile  at  the  doctor.  Then  the  outraged 
horses  were  backed  out  of  the  radius  of  petrol  stench, 
and  merrily  clicked  on  their  way. 

"Who  is  that  splendid  girl?"  Payne  asked.  "Where 
did  Peter  come  across  her?" 

"She's  a  gift  from  the  High  Gods,  Dr.  Payne,"  re- 
plied Philip,  "and  if  luck  holds,  I'm  going  to  marry 
her." 

*  *  Ho-ho ! ' '  cried  the  doctor.  "  Is  it  even  so  ?  Engaged, 
are  we?" 

"Not  yet,  but  she's  going  to  marry  me.  She's  the 
Authentic  Girl,  you  see." 

"Does  she  know  it?"  inquired  Payne. 

"Not  yet,  but  I  think  she's  beginning  just  to  have 
a  dawning  of  a  suspicion,"  said  Philip.  "You  see  I 
never  wanted  anything  so  much." 

A  shaft  of  memory  shot  across  PajTie's  mind. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         145 

"So  you're  mad  ou  a  thing  till  you  get  it,"  he  had 
once  mused  about  Philip. 

One  thing  he  felt  savagely  sure  of — that  girl  with  the 
steadfast  e^^es  deserved  steadfastness  in  return.  Would 
she  get  it  ?  he  wondered. 


CHAPTER  Xiy 

"All  the  ialTc  we  have  ever  heard 
Uttered  by  bat  or  beast  or  bird — ■ 
Hide  or  fin  or  scale  or  feather — 
Jabber  it    quickly   and   all    together! 
Excellent  J      Wonderful!      Once  again! 
Now  we  are  tallcing  just  Wee  wicti." 

— EOAD-SONO    OP   THE    BaNDAE-LOCJ 

NUMBER  ONE,  Contentment  Road,  was  en  fete. 
It  was  Philip's  last  Sunday  in  Melbourne,  and 
Margaret  had  packed  her  big  room  with  friends 
who  "did"  things,  to  say  farewell  to  the  great  man. 

In  a  way,  she  felt  his  departure  as  a  relief.  It  would 
give  her  a  much-needed  breathing-space.  He  was  rush- 
ing her,  and  it  was  wearying  work  to  be  continually  on 
the  defensive.  The  party  was,  in  a  measure,  a  breastwork 
against  his  attacks. 

Payne,  by  now  on  the  footing  of  a  friend,  was  one 
of  the  guests.  He  had  been  monopolized  by  Roxy  Bar- 
row, who,  in  her  direct,  ruthless  style,  had  carried  him 
off  to  a  quiet  corner.  She  wrote  the  Woman's  Letter 
for  a  weekly,  in  which,  with  friendly,  understanding 
malice,  she  held  up  to  ridicule  the  foibles  exhibited  by 
her  sex  during  the  previous  seven  days.  Her  stout,  un- 
gainly figure  securely  penned  the  doctor  into  his  corner, 
where  he  soon  grew  resigned,  and  then  interested,  as 
her  racy,  slangy  talk  ran  on. 

"You're  a  new  one,  aren't  you,  doctor?"  she  asked, 
with  a  quizzical  look. 

"Brand  new,"  he  informed  her. 

"And  how  do  you  qualify?"  she  continued.  "What 
do  you  do?  I  mean  outside  your  ordinary  contribution 
to  the  vital  statistics,  of  course." 

146 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         147 

"I  understood  the  only  qualification  in  this  room 
was — er — serenity,"  he  rejoined. 

"In  a  way,"  she  admitted.  "A  disposition  to  let 
things  rip,  I  suppose.  But  Margaret  has  a  flair  for 
avoiding  the  banal.  I  thought  you  might  have  a  line. 
Not  verse,  I  hope?" 

"Lord,  no!"  He  was  quick  at  repudiating  the  sug- 
gestion. *'I'm  just  a  friend  of  the  management.  I 
dress  the  room,  give  it  that  solid  appearance  which  even 
the  froth  of  frivolity  of  people  like  you  can't  entirely 
hide." 

''You'll  do,"  she  approved.  "I  asked  because  people 
who  'do'  things  are  so  bored  if  others  don't  know  their 
forte,  don 't  you  know.  A  good  talker  is  a  person  who 
quickly  discovers  another's  weakness  and  then  plays 
upon  it." 

"Then  I  must  ask  yours,"  he  retorted.  *' Please  tell 
me  all  about  yourself." 

"My  dear  man,  you  know  not  what  you  ask,"  she 
warned  him.  "I'm  a  cat,  professionally  speaking,  of 
course.  I  creep  round,  and  listen  at  doors  to  overhear 
what  my  sister-woman  is  doing,  and  if  it's  sufficiently 
interesting,  that  is  to  say,  sufficiently  scandalous,  I  just 
flirt  with  the  law  of  libel,  and  publish  it  the  following 
week.    Please  say  you  think  it's  a  noble  pastime." 

"You  are  libeling  yourself,"  he  accused  her.  "You 
look  too  good-natured  for  your  job." 

"That's  my  fat.  The  Editor  advertised  for  a  fat 
woman.  You  see,  we  are  never  suspected  of  being 
deliberately  nasty.  It  makes  the  few  apologies  we  are 
compelled  to  make  go  down  better.  But  avoirdupois 
has  its  disadvantages.  My  Editor  is  a  mean  man.  And 
I  am  a  lazy  woman,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 

Payne  settled  himself  back  comfortably.  He  was 
enjoying  the  twinkling,  gray  eyes  that  saw  Life  as  a 
huge  jest  for  a  weekly  causerie. 

"You  have  my  attention,"  he  smiled. 

"It  is  a  pathetic  story,"  she  explained,  "but  short. 
One  week,  after  I  had  driven  the  poor  man  crazy  by 
being  almost,  but  not  quite,  too  late  for  press,  I  actually 


148        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

missed  the  bus.  He  didn  't  consider  the  relief  of  twenty 
poor  women  who  expected  to  find  themselves  in  my 
pillory,  and  obtained  miraculous  reprieve.  Oh,  no.  But, 
in  place  of  my  usual  piffle,  he  put  an  announcement,  in 
pica,  to  the  effect  that  readers  might  take  note  of  his 
contributor's  lapse,  and,  if  it  happened  again,  he  would 
publish  her  exact  weight.  Wasn't  that  a  shameful 
revenge  ? ' ' 

"And  did  he  ever  have  to?"  inquired  Payne. 

"You'd  better  believe  I  gave  him  no  chance,"  she 
retorted.  "I  sit  up  at  night  till  the  darned  thing  is 
finished." 

She  turned  her  head.  Philip  was  speaking  in  a  low 
tone  to  Margaret,  who  shook  her  head  decidedly,  and 
moved  away  to  another  guest. 

"There's  some  copy  for  me,"  she  said. 

"Lee  and  Miss  Gillies?"  he  inquired. 

"Um.  Think  there's  anything  in  it?  The  women 
of  this  little  village  have  lost  their  heads  about  the 
fascinating  Philip.  They  tell  me  he  is  writing  a  master- 
piece of  a  play.  Perhaps  he's  going  a-gunning  for  a 
heroine." 

"They  are  very  good  friends.  Miss  Barrow,"  he  said, 
"and  I  think  it  ends  there." 

"And  you  also  think  Roxy  Barrow  is  an  interfering, 
prying,  stout  party,  who  would  be  better  occupied  mind- 
ing her  own  business,"  she  completed,  good-humoredly. 

Margaret  came  over. 

"Eoxy,  you  always  monopolize  people.  I  want  Dr. 
Payne,  and  I  want  you  to  go  and  be  nice  to  Mr.  McNab. 
He's  shy." 

Roxy  made  a  face,  and  raised  her  bulk  reluctantly. 

"If  you  insist,"  she  said,  "but  Dr.  Payne  was  just 
telling  me  what  an  impossible  creature  he  thought  me, 
and  I  was  enjoying  the  experience."  Then  she  sat  down 
again.  "Mcls^ab  can  just  be  brought  to  the  mountain," 
she  said,  firmly.    "You  can't  move  me  like  a  chessman." 

Payne  arose,  and  McNab  was  inserted  with  some 
difficulty  into  his  place.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  young 
man,  with  a  flat,  expressionless  face,  and  untidy  red  hair. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         149 

He  wore  a  loose-fitting  sack  suit,  with  short  coat-sleeves, 
from  which  protruded  red  wrists  that  terminated  in  huge 
hands,  the  backs  of  which  were  covered  with  coarse,  red 
hair.  Two  years  later  his  was  to  be  an  international 
reputation,  and  his  water-colors,  which  now  sold  for  a 
few  guineas,  were  to  be  competed  for  by  experts. 

Eoxy  struck  the  right  note  immediately.  McNab  was 
voluble  on^  one  subject  only,  the  future  of  Australian 
Art,  in  which  he  saw  possibilities  that  Australians  them- 
selves did  not  even  dimly  guess  at.  Launched  on  this 
topic,  which  she  had  wit  enough  to  make  controversial, 
his  common  face  glowed  with  feeling  and  w^as  trans- 
figured. His  hands,  which  were  an  uncontrollable 
nuisance  to  him,  except  when  the  brush  was  in  his  fingers, 
ceased  their  clumsy  movements,  and  gestured  explana- 
torily. 

"We're  building  a  school  out  here,"  he  told  her. 
"The  days  are  passing  when  picture  buyers  insist  on 
English  or  foreign  names.  I  tell  you  they  are  beginning 
to  realize  what  an  inspiration  our  environment  is.  An 
English  artist  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  had  come 
out  here  to  paint,  but  could  find  nothing  to  do." 

"He  wanted  cathedrals,  I  suppose,"  said  Eoxy.  "Did 
you  leave  any  of  the  pieces  to  send  home  to  his 
friends?" 

* '  He  wasn  't  worth  bothering  about.  Nothing  to  paint ! 
Our  bush  was  too  monotonous — no  color;  our  sky  was 
too  brilliant,  too  much  color.  Fatuous  ass !  I  told  him 
to  go  and  look  at  Heyson's  trees,  at  Streeton's  water,  at 
Brown's  skies,  and  then  come  back  and  argue.  You 
just  wait  a  year  or  two,  and  then  take  a  squint  at  the 
exhibitions  in  London.  You'll  find  Australian  canvases 
everywhere.    We're  just  coming  into  our  own." 

His  excited,  enthusiastic  voice  laid  down  the  artistic 
law,  and  the  awkward,  shambling,  common  vesture  of 
flesh  that  hid  the  fine  creature  beneath  seemed  to  be 
sloughed  off.  It  was  the  voice  of  Australian  ambition 
articulate. 

Peter  had  constituted  himself  a  depository  of  the 
yearnings  of  a  girl  with  a  mission.    She  was  working  for 


150        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

the  day  when  Repertory  plays  would  be  the  ordinary 
pabulum  of  the  play-going  masses. 

"They  say  it  doesn't  pay,"  she  said,  indignantly. 
"Pay!  Who  wants  it  to  pay?  This  commercializing 
of  the  drama  would  be  its  ruin,  if  there  were  not  the 
shouting  voices  of  Galsworthy  and  Shaw  reminding  us 
that  there  are  champions  still  fighting.'* 

Peter  began  a  faint  protest,  designed  to  keep  a  roof 
over  the  heads  of  the  awful,  commercial  managers,  who, 
after  all,  had  to  live,  but  the  argument  was  snatched  from 
him  and  ruthlessly  trampled  on. 

*'If  they  won't  give  the  public  what  it  really  wants, 
they  don't  deserve  to  live,"  she  announced,  firmly. 
''Why  don't  they  go  and  sell  tea  and  sugar,  in  a  frankly 
commercial  way  ?  How  dare  they  occupy  the  places  of 
men  who  should  use  their  responsibilities  towards  the 
education  of  the  people  properly?  Stupid  rubbish  like 
comic  opera  and  revues  is  ruining  the  public  taste. 
When  have  we  had  a  good  play?"  she  demanded,  and 
paused  for  a  reply. 

Peter  quailed.  He  knew  that  if  he  described  any  play 
as  good,  it  would  certainly  be  denounced,  together  with 
his  taste.  Still  she  was  dreadfully  in  earnest ;  she  even 
appeared  angry  with  him.    He  risked  it. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  Dumas  is — er — all  right?" 

With  a  gesture  she  swept  Dumas  and  the  whole  roman- 
tic school  out  of  existence. 

"Can't  you  see  that  it  is  only  life  that  can  educate?" 
she  asked,  superbly.  "And  if  that  is  so,  it  is  only  realism 
that  can  really  be  given  a  place  on  our  stage.  Who 
wants  glittering  pretense,  when  he  can  suffer  with  a 
glorious  creature  like  the  washer-woman  in  the  Silver 
Box  ?  when  he  can  live  through  the  poignancy  of  Hcdda 
Gabler  or  of  Nora?" 

"But  it's  ugly,"  said  Peter,  bravely. 

"And  isn't  Life  ugly?"  demanded  the  young  lady, 
who  had  had  just  twenty  years'  experience  of  it. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  declared  Peter,  suddenly  daring. 
"And,  if  it  were,  what  a  splendid  argument  for  not 
multiplying  its  brutality  by  playing  at  it,  as  well  as 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         151 

living  it!  If  you're  right,  what  people  need  is  not 
horrible  stuff  like  Ibsen,  but  sweet,  make-believe  Romance, 
where  lovers  marry  and  live  happily  ever  after." 

The  girl  with  a  mission  was  too  hurt  to  resume  the 
argument. 

"You're  just  like  the  commercial  managers  who  only 
think  of  the  box-office,"  she  condemned  him,  and  moved 
away. 

"You  tell  your  friends  to  go  to  the  hospitals  and  the 
morgues,"  he  fired  after  her.  "Mine,  who  are  only  after 
amusement,  will  continue  to  go  to  theatres." 

"Who's  that  girl  with  the  bobbed  hair?"  he  asked 
Margaret. 

"She's  Connie  Young.  She  used  to  belong  to  the 
Manchester  Repertory  Theatre.    Isn't  she  interesting?" 

"She  suffers  from  it,"  said  Peter.  "I  believe  she 
hates  me.    I  admitted  I  liked  romantic  plays." 

"Poor  Peter!"  laughed  Margaret.  "She  is  very  ear- 
nest. After  all,  it  is  only  the  extremists  who  reform 
the  world." 

"Has  it  ever  struck  you  the  world  doesn't  like  being 
reformed?"  he  asked.  "It's  a  beastly  process.  The 
world's  all  right,  quite  a  jolly  old  place,  if  they'd  only 
leave  it  alone." 

Philip  had  been  captured  by  another  reformer.  He 
was  a  Labor  Member  of  Parliament,  one  of  Mrs.  Chuff's 
"honorary"  members,  a  fellow-boarder. 

A  Labor  Government  was  ruling  the  country,  and  it 
must  be  admitted,  ruling  it  with  an  efficiency  as  great, 
at  least,  as  its  Liberal  predecessors.  A  crop  of  tremen- 
dously keen,  intelligent,  glib  young  men  had  sprung  up, 
under  the  forcing  of  political  party  success.  Anything 
less  than  the  caricatures  of  Labor  men,  with  bowyangs 
and  red  bandannas,  and  a  dinner-pail,  could  not  well  be 
imagined.  Their  speech  was  sometimes  rough,  but 
oftener  cultured.  The  general  high  level  of  education 
effected  that.  Their  policy,  which  in  Opposition  had 
been  extremist  in  tone,  had  in  the  mellow  warmth  of 
office  thawed  to  geniality;  they  no  longer  wanted  to 
make   a  bonfire    of  vested   interests;   the  tumbrils  no 


152        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

longer  yawned  for  hated  capitalists,  and  a  guillotine 
might  have  stood  in  front  of  Parliament  House  for  a 
generation,  without  any  evil  passions  of  the  Government 
supporters  being  moved  to  cry  for  a  victim. 

Henry  Avery  was  a  type  of  the  new  people's  cham- 
pions. He  was  a  pleasant-looking  fellow,  an  intellectual, 
and  he  suffered  only  from  an  itch  to  make  converts.  He 
saw  material  in  Philip. 

The  latter  smiled,  as  the  member  made  his  opening 
gambit.    He  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  admit  I  don't  take  the  least 
interest  in  politics,"  he  said. 

' '  That 's  a  damaging  admission, ' '  said  Avery.  * '  Doesn  't 
it  strike  you  as  curious  that  men  like  you,  keenly  in- 
terested in  every  phase  of  social  life,  dependent  for  your 
living  on  the  changes  in  social  life,  should  nevertheless 
be  indifferent  to  the  security  of  the  hook,  from  which 
the  whole  thing  hangs?" 

"I  suppose  it  would,  to  you,"  admitted  Philip.  "But 
I  take  the  security  for  granted,  with  chaps  like  you 
screwing  the  thing  into  the  beam." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  countered  Avery;  "but  you 
mustn't  mind  my  saying  that  it's  just  that  damned 
laissez-faire  that  brings  about  bad  government.  You're 
not  a  labor  man,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  suppose  I  am,"  he  admitted.  "Of  course, 
I  think  the  working-man  should  get  a  fair  deal,  and 
all  that  kind  of  thing " 

"So  long  as  it  doesn't  interfere  with  your  life," 
smiled  the  Member.  "I  oughtn't  to  argue  this  way, 
because  it  is  precisel}'-  through  the  apathy  of  your  class 
that  our  people  are  in  power.  If  only  the  great  mass  of 
middle-class  opinion  became  vocal,  and  expressed  itself 
at  the  ballot-box,  labor  would  have  to  wait  another 
generation." 

"What  are  you  actually  after?"  Philip  asked,  his 
interest  enlisted. 

"Do  you  mean  ultimately?  Or  at  once?"  inquired 
Avery. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         153 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  mean  ultimately,"  explained  the 
other. 

"Absolute  equality  of  opportunity — absolute  equal- 
ity of  effort — absolute  equality  of  payment,"  the  Labor 
Member  replied,  instantly,  as  one  repeats  a  lesson. 

"But — that's  tosh,"  Philip  criticised.  "I  mean — 
how  can  you  have  equality  of  effort?  Peter  will  loaf, 
while  Paul  works.     That's  human  nature." 

"At  present.  But  is  human  nature  a  si;atic  quality? 
Doesn't  it  change  with  changing  conditions?  Wasn't 
it  human  nature  in  the  great  artistic  age  that  came 
in  with  the  Kenaissance  for  a  man  to  wish  to  be  as- 
sociated with  the  building  of  a  great  cathedral,  with  the 
achievement  of  some  painfully  slow  form  of  Art,  the 
benefit  of  which  only  the  next  generation  would  obtain  ? 
Surely  there  was  a  time  when  the  acquirement  of  wealth 
was  not  human  nature.  Well,  may  not  there  come  a 
time  when  the  payment  of  money  may  pass  away,  and 
with  its  abolition  the  nature  of  man  to  acquire  and 
hoard  become  only  like  a  tale  that  is  told  ? " 

"But  that  will  be  the  millennium,"  laughed  Philip.^ 

"I  said — ultimately.  We  don't  expect  to  pass  a  Bill 
this  session,  you  know,"  smiled  Avery.  "We've  got 
something  like  an  equality  of  opportunity  at  present, 
with  our  great  system  of  education  and  scholarships. 
Yet  a  hundred  years  ago,  human  nature  would  have 
had  to  be  changed  to  grant  even  such  a  commonplace 
measure  of  reform." 

Philip's  plastic  mind  suddenly  saw  a  vision  of  & 
changed  world,  himself  one  of  the  agents.  It  would 
have  been  quite  possible  for  him  to  have  dramatized  him- 
self once  more,  as  a  political  leader  this  time,  suffering 
martyrdom  to  bring  Utopia  into  being.     He  glowed.^ 

The  spell  was  broken  by  Margaret,  under  direction 
from  Peter. 

"If  you  don't  yank  Phil  out  of  that  fellow's  clutches, 
he'll  be  standing  for  Parliament  next  election,"  he 
warned.  "He's  just  about  the  point  where  he  sees  him- 
self on  the  stump,  promising  a  millennium  when  he's 
Prime  Minister." 


154.         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVE:\IENT 

"Good  Heavens!  He  takes  as  much  looking  after  as 
a  child,"  she  moaned,  and  removed  him  from  the  danger 
zone. 

Supper  was  a  solvent  of  the  situation.  Serious  talk 
became  graduall}''  more  and  more  detached,  and  re- 
plies were  delayed,  as  chairs  were  removed  to  one 
side  to  give  passage  to  Mrs.  Chuff,  who,  with  Chuff  as 
assistant,  had  undertaken  to  wait  on  the  guests. 

When  Margaret  had  consulted  her  about  the  arrange- 
ments, she  had  been  a  tower  of  strength. 

**You  jest  leave  it  all  to  Ma,  dearie.  'The  funril 
baked  meat '11  coldly  furbish  up  the  married  stables,' 
which  I  mean  to  say  that  the  turkey  we  'ave  'ot  for 
dinner '11  cut  up  cold  for  supper.  Then  Chuff '11  serve 
the  wine.  'E's  the  chap  to  make  it  pop,  an'  I  allays 
thinks  the  pop  makes  things  go,  some'ow." 

She  came  in  now,  all  smiles.  Most  of  the  guests 
she  knew  by  sight.  Chuff  followed  her,  with  the  wine, 
solemn  and  important.  He  was  a  spare  little  man,  a 
Cockney,  with  a  sallow,  thin  face,  and  alert  eyes,  which 
swiveled,  from  habit  as  a  Cerberus,  no  doubt,  from  the 
shelter  of  gray  turrets  of  eyebrows,  raking  the  approaches 
to  his  cubby.  He  wore  a  white  tie,  which  transformed 
his  shabby  suit  into  evening-wear.  On  his  feet  were 
carpet-slippers,  the  heels  of  which  were  leveled  with  the 
ground,  and  displayed  to  the  public  gaze  the  much- 
darned  gray  socks  he  habitually  wore. 

Chuff,  whom  his  -work  rendered  severe,  looked  at  the 
men,  as  he  handed  them  things,  as  though  he  were  con- 
tinually on  the  point  of  asking  them  their  business. 
But  this  professional  frost  melted  when  Philip  insisted 
on  his  taking  a  glass  of  wine.  A  nod  from  Margaret 
had  suggested  this  concession. 

*'If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chuff,  with  becoming 
humility,  and  in  a  miraculous  instant,  it  was  gone. 
Philip  almost  wondered  whether  he  had  not  by  an 
oversight  failed  to  give  it  to  him  after  all.  The  empty 
glass,  in  Chuff's  hand,  was  proof,  however.  Perhaps 
there  was  just  the  tiniest  suggestion  in  the  doorkeeper's 
manner  that  he  would  not  be  averse  to  another.    He 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         155 

obtained  it,  and  treated  it  very  differently.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  flushed  the  way,  in  order  that  the  second 
glass  might  make  a  solemn  entry,  without  interruptions 
en  route. 

Margaret  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Chuff,  who  shook  her 
head  less  and  less  decidedly,  until  at  last  she  laughed  a 
big,  shaking  laugh  and  surrendered. 

"Oh,  well,  dearie,  if  you  'ave  a  book,  I'll  'ave  a 
go  at  it,  but  you'll  'ave  to  prompt  somethin'  erool." 

"Mrs.  Chuff's  going  to  do  the  Balcony  Scene  for  us," 
Margaret  announced,  "and  she  doesn't  mind  how  much 
you  laugh,  because  she  says  it 's  as  funny  as  a  circus. 

On  a  heroic  chair,  behind  the  piano,  Mrs,  Chuff 
clambered,  with  squeaks  of  apprehension.  Margaret 
stood  near,  with  the  book,  and  when  the  actress  faltered, 
she  prompted  her.  Philip  created  a  diversion  by  com- 
ing in  unexpectedly  as  Romeo,  pressing  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  piano,  with  adoring  eyes  fixed  on  Juliet. 

"Wot's  in  a  nime?  that  wot  we  call  a  rose 
By  any  other  nime  would  smell  all  right 
So  would  Romeo,  were    'e  not  Romeo  called 
Retain  that  tum-ti-tum-ti  which  'e  owes." 

Mrs.  Chuff  would  never  pause  for  correction  in  the 
middle  of  a  line,  but,  with  charming  good-humor,  and 
wreathed  smiles,  she  would  tum-ti  till  she  caught  up 
the  end  of  the  rhythm.  But  memory  soon  lagged,  and 
the  voice  of  the  prompter  was  increasingly  heard  in  the 
land.     And  then  Juliet,  weak  with  laughing,  said : 

"Yon  finish  it,  dearie,  now  you're  so  fur  on.  A 
funny,  fat  ole  Juliet  I  am.  But  'sfunny,  w'en  I  say 
that  piece,  'tain't  meself  I  'ear,  it's  my  Miss  'Arrington, 
an' it  soun's  lovely.     Go  on,  pet,  finish  it." 

Which  Margaret  did,  in  a  sweet  voice,  with  just  a 
tiny  tremor  in  it,  when  Philip  took  up  Romeo's  part, 
and  made  realistic  love. 

"Alack,  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords ;  look  thou  but  sweet 
And  I  am  proof  against  their  enmity." 

Roxy  Barrow  made  quite  a  nice  paragraph  out  of  it 
in  her  next  "Woman's  Letter. 


156        THE  ASHES  OF  ACPUEVEMENT 

"When  it  was  over,  Chuff  grew  reminiscent,  the  wine 
having  warmed  him  into  good-fellowship.  The  Labor 
Member  touched  the  chord  of  memory  by  mentioning 
Henry  Irving,  pere. 

"■  'Enery  Irvin'!"  Chuff  roared  the  name  in  an  im- 
pressive, defiant  way.  "  'Ere,  I'll  tell  you  a  story  of 
'Enery  Irvin' — an'  it  'asn't  got  into  th'  papers,  either." 

Chuff  had  a  way  of  setting  his  stage,  grouping  his 
characters,  placing  his  furniture,  training  his  spotlight, 
and  then  letting  you  down  horribly  by  dropping  the 
curtain. 

"  'Enery  Irvin'.  Talks  o'  'Enery  Irvin'!"  He 
slapped  his  leg  in  an  agony  of  mirth,  and  roared: 
*'Lor  lumme!  I  could  tell  you  some  yarns  'bout  'im, 
that'd  make  you  die  with  larfin'.  I  were  doorkeeper 
at  the  ole  'Aymarket,  w'en  Irvin'  was  doin'  'The  Bells.' 
'Ere,  111  show  you." 

With  eager  hand,  he  pulled  a  chair  towards  him. 

"  'Ere's  the  eubby-ole" — he  pulled  another  in  front. 
"  'Ere's  me  sittin',  as  it  might  be,  jest  'ere."  He  eyed 
the  stage  with  a  managerial  eye,  "No,  'ere,"  and  he 
corrected  his  reckoning  by  a  foot.  *'  'Ere's  the  letter- 
rack,  jest  on  me  right;  the  key-'ooks  is  over  'ere  on 
me  lef,  an'  Ma's  the  door.  It  was  a  Toosdy — no,  it 
wasn't  neither,  it  was  a  Monday — no,  I  was  right  at  fust, 
'cos  I  had  a  toothache,  an'  'ad  it  out;  it  was  Toosdy — 
an'  in  comes  'Enery,  jest  by  Ma.  'E  warn't  Sir  'Enery 
then,  not  be  a  jugful;  'e  got  that  rater  fer  actin'  before 
th'  ole  Queen  in  this  very  play,  'The  Bells.'  'E 
fumbles  with  'is  eye-glass  a  minute,  an'  looks  up  at  the 
letter-rack,  'ere.  'E  looks  at  the  rack,  'e  did,  an'  then 
'e  looks  at  me.  'Chuff,'  'e  ses,  sharp-like,  but  gentle- 
manly— lumme,  I  kin  'ear  'im  now,  gentle-like,  but 
sharp,  an'  yet  not  sharp  neither,  -but  soft — gentle,  that's 
wot  it  were — 'Chuff,'  'e  ses,  'wot  the  devil  do  you  do 
with  my  letters,  eat  'em  1 '  'e  ses.  Lor  lumme !  Larf !  I 
nigh  killed  meself.  'You're  a  caution,  Mr.  Irvin','  I 
ses.  'E  let  you  say  wot  you  liked.  'Wot  the  devil  do 
youdo  with  my  letters?'  'e  ses.  'Eat 'em?'  Eat  'em!" 
He  chuckled  uproariously.     "Lord,  'e  was  smart.     Al- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         15T 

ways  sayin'  funny  tliingg.  Well,  it  was  a  bad  day  for 
England  w'en  'e  died.  Well,  ladies  and  gents,  me  an' 
Ma '11  be  leavin'  you  to  enjoy  yourselves.  Good-night, 
one  an'  all." 

With  which  comprehensive  farewell,  he  collected  the 
proud  Mrs.  Chuff,  on  whom  shone  a  reflected  glory 
from  the  great  dead,  and  departed  to  lower  regions. 

It  was  the  signal  for  departure.  The  girl  with  the 
mission,  McNab,  once  more  with  his  overcoat  of  Com- 
monplace, Koxy  Barrow,  pretending  to  be  at  daggers 
drawn  with  Dr.  Payne,  the  Doctor  himself,  all  filed  out, 
the  Member  exacting  a  promise  from  Philip  to  come  to 
the  House  on  his  return  from  Sydney. 

Only  Peter,  Philip  and  Margaret  were  left. 

"Was  it  nice,  boys?"  she  asked. 

"Ripping,"  said  Peter.     ''Absolutely  bonzer  people." 

"Would  have  been  better  without  people  at  all," 
said  Philip,  gloomily.  "My  train  goes  at  five,  and  I'll 
not  have  a  minute  for  a  talk." 

"Five  minutes  more  to  make  Phil  in  a  fit  frame  of 
mind,  so  that  Rule  One  isn't  broken,  and  then,  like  dear 
old  Pepys — to  bed,"  commanded  Margaret. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"One  man  in  a  thousand,  Solomon   says, 
Will  stick  more  close  tlian  a  brother. 
And  it's  worth  while  seeking  hiin  half  yov,r  days 

If  you  find  him  before  the  other. 
Nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine   depend 

On  what  the  world  sees  in  you, 
But  the  Thousandth  Man  will  stand  your  friend 
With    the    whole   round   world   agin   you." 

— The  Thousandth  Man 

NEXT  day  Philip  left  for  Sydney,  for  a  three 
months'  season.  He  had  been  refused  twice  by 
Margaret. 

He  took  it  hardly.  His  personality  suffered  almost 
an  eclipse.  He  grew  silent,  with  an  occasional  storm 
of  irritability  succeeded  by  a  condition  of  as  extravagant 
abjectness. 

Hia  moods  alternated,  at  one  time  high  with  hope, 
at  another  fathoms  deep  in  dejection.  His  physical 
health,  generally  so  abounding,  suffered.  "With  him  the 
mind  always  ruled  the  body. 

Margaret  found  her  own  feelings  hard  to  analyze. 
Her  normal,  level,  common  sense  told  her  that  Philip, 
brilliant,  good-tempered,  generous  as  he  was,  yet  pos- 
sessed a  certain  instability  that  made  her  fear  for  him. 
That  old  impression  he  had  given  her  on  their  first 
meeting — that  he  was  like  an  eager  bird,  poised  for 
flight,  never  left  her.  It  attracted  her  tremendously, 
on  her  woman's  side;  it  stirred  something  in  her  that 
sprang  to  meet  the  boyish,  flaming  spirit  in  him.  In  this 
mood  she  could  have  surrendered.  But  it  passed.  A 
chill,  little  wind  of  caution  blew  over  her  desire.  Her 
mind,  free  from  emotional  influence,  was  able  to  sense 
a  danger. 

She  hated,  too,  the  nomadic,  restless  life  of  the  stage. 

168 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        159 

She  saw  herself,  in  clear  moments,  an  object  of  one 
emotion  among  many  others — the  feigned  emotions 
which  Philip's  profession  forced  upon  him.  The  facile 
passions  of  the  actor,  changing  with  changing  parts,  are 
apt  to  render  his  nature  very  elastic.  Elasticity  loses 
its  quality  by  being  overstrained.  When  resilience  has 
departed  from  Love,  the  latter  becomes  a  commonplace, 
dead  thing.  Where  passion  is  habitually  a  pose,  true 
emotion  is  in  danger. 

His  resolution  flamed  higher  than  ever,  despite  his 
rejection.  It  enveloped  him;  possessed  him  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything.  His  play  lay,  three-quarters 
finished,  forgotten,  or,  if  remembered  in  intervals, 
despised.  His  work  grew  mechanical,  for  his  mind  was 
always  fixed  on  Margaret.  He  must  win  her ;  he  would 
win  her.  He  told  Peter  of  his  refusal ;  of  his  resolution. 
Peter,  with  a  queer  little  pain  at  his  heart,  told  him  it 
was  inconceivable  that  Margaret  did  not  love  him ;  that 
he  must  just  wait  quietly  until  she  realized  herself. 

But  quiet  waiting  was  not  in  Philip's  power.  He 
soared,  limitless,  to  the  greatest  heights,  so  long  as  he 
could  have  Margaret  as  an  inspiration  always  beside 
him.  The  boastful  motto  of  the  great  Fouquet  might 
well  have  been  assumed  by  him — ^'Quo  non  ascendam?'* 

He  told  her  this,  in  a  tremendous  effort  to  carry  her 
by  storm,  in  the  approved  way. 

*'If  you'd  only  marry  me,"  he  said,  "there  is  nothing 
I  could  not  do." 

''But,  surely,  Philip,  ambition  in  a  man  should  not 
depend  on  a  thing  like  that." 

"Perhaps  not.     I'm  not  talking  ethics." 

"You're  successful  now,  if  success  were  all  I  wanted," 
she  argued. 

"Oh— that!"  he  scorned.  "That's  nothing— piffling. 
I  mean — big  things.  You  don't  want  to  marry  an 
actor." 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  any  sort  of  successful  man, 
if  it  comes  to  that,  merely  because  he  is  successful," 
she  said.  "  If  I  loved  you,  it  wouldn  't  matter  if  you  were 
a  clerk  at  thirty  shillings  a  week. ' ' 


160        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEIVIENT 

"Well,  it's  no  good  talking— now, "  he  replied;  "but 
111  never  take  *no'  for  an  answer.  As  soon  as  I've 
saved  enough  money  to  give  me  a  free  year,  I'm  going 
to  chuck  the  stage.  Then  I'll  finish  my  play,  and  show 
you  what  I'm  capable  of." 

"But  you  were  so  set  on  reaching  the  top  of  the  tree 
in  your  profession,"  she  remonstrated. 

"Can't  you  see  how  it  is?"  he  burst  out.  "That 
would  take  me  farther  from  you.  What  am  I  now? 
A  tenth-rate  star,  but  still,  these  people  in  Melbourne 
have  given  me  all  the  sensations  even  the  big  fellows 
get,  except  money.  When  you've  heard  a  theatre  boom- 
ing with  noise,  and  realize  it's  for  you,  you've  heard 
just  exactly  what  the  years  can  bring  you.  The  sound 
of  Australian  hand-clapping  and  banging  boots  won't 
be  a  bit  different  from  the  same  things  elsewhere,  whether 
it's  Africa,  England  or  America.  Girls  will  write  just 
the  same  dam-fool  notes;  the  papers  will  write  similar 
tosh.  It's  all  the  same  monotonous  grind — and  I  would 
be  treading  the  dreary  road  without  you.  I  couldn't 
ask  you  to  trail  around  with  a  wretched  mummer." 

"But,  Philip,  you  must  not  throw  it  over  just  for  that 
reason.  It  is  trying  to  force  my  hand,  and  I  won't  be 
forced.    It's  not  fair,  and  I  resent  it." 

"I'm  not  forcing  it.  As  I  am  I  can't  win  you._  Well, 
I'll  make  myself  over  into  something  that  can  win  you. 
You  can't  stop  me.  I'm — I'm  sick  to  death  of  the 
posturing  and  grimacing,  the  love-making  and  the  make- 
believe  of  the  stage.  I  can't  stick  it  much  longer.  I'm 
going  to  realize  on  it  and  gamble  on  another  color." 

"It's  the  gamble  that  terrifies  me,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"It  needn't.  As  long  as  it  remains  a  gamble,  I'll  go  it 
alone.  When  it  turns  up  trumps,  I'll  come  and  ask 
you  again.  Margaret,  tell  me  this.  When  I've  cut  the 
painter  and  made  a  success  in  something  really  worth 

while — playwriting,  for  example — will  you " 

She  cut  him  short. 

"I  can't  promise,  Philip.  You  seem  to  think  success 
is  the  best  thing  in  life.    You  scale  one  height,  only  to 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         161 

rush  down-hill  again  and  make  for  another  peak.  Climb- 
ing doesn't  attract  me.  Pinnacles  make  me  dizzy.  Con- 
tentment Road  is  a  flat,  level,  commonplace  thing,  but 
it  just  suits  me." 

"It's  not  true.  Every  woman  likes  a  man  to  lay 
achievement  at  her  feet — to  feel  that  for  her  is  the  thing 
achieved.  Contentment  Road!"  he  ended,  in  fine  scorn. 
*'Why,  the  grocer  and  the  baker  may  live  in  Content- 
ment Road — or  dear  old  Peter,  whose  ambition  would 
go  in  a  nutshell!"  He  broke  into  a  laugh;  the  angry, 
argumentative  flush  passed  from  his  face,  succeeded  by 
the  old,  humorous  smile. 

On  that  pleasanter  note  he  left  her,  and  ran  down  to 
say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Chuff. 

"Well,  dearie,  the  best  o'  friends  must  part,"  said 
that  lady,  wiping  wet  hands  ineffectually  on  an  even 
wetter  roller-towel.  "Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  me 
greatness,"  the  ridiculous  creature  quoted  dramatically, 
her  head  bowed  on  her  chest,  and  her  damp  hands 
clenched,  in  a  presumably  Wolsey  pose.  She  wheezed 
into  a  roar  of  laughter.  "My  goodness,  I  wish  I  could 
say  farewell  to  all  my  greatness,"  she  shouted.  "For- 
mettes  won't  do  it,  that's  flat." 

"I  don't  want  to  find  a  slim,  young  thing  calling 
herself  Mrs.  Chuff,  when  I  get  back,"  warned  Philip. 
"You  leave  yourself  alone.    You're  just  right." 

"Oh,  I  know  meself,  pet.  I'm  jest  a  ole  elephant. 
It's  true  what  they  ses  in  the  play — a  tiger  can't  change 
'is  spots.  Oh,  well,  come  back  safe  an'  soun',  dearie, 
an'  don't  get  marry  in'  one  o'  them  Sydney  gals.  I  got 
me  eye  on  a  Victorian  for  you.  'Ere,  do  it  on  both 
cheeks,  so's  they  won't  be  jealous." 

Philip  was  to  meet  Peter  at  the  station.  When  he 
reached  the  departure  platform,  a  noisy,  laughing  group 
was  clustered  round  a  car  window,  "seeing  off"  a  friend. 
As  he  passed,  one  of  the  party  happened  to  turn. 

It  was  Mazie. 

"Fancy  meeting  you!"  she  greeted  him,  mockingly. 
Mazie  was  the  last  person  of  whose  existence  he  cared 
to  be  reminded  just  then. 


162        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"How  do  you  come  here?"  he  asked,  ''I  thought  the 
company  was  playing  Adelaide  and  the  West  before 
coming  over  here." 

"They  are.  I'm  not  with  them.  M.  J.  Field  adver- 
tised for  show  girls,  and  I  jumped  in,  M.J.'s  going  to 
be  a  big  shout  in  Australia,  take  it  from  me.  It's  worth 
while  to  get  in  with  him.  Oodles  of  coin,  and  he  knows 
what  some  of  the  others  only  suspect,  that  the  public 
like  pretty  girls  better  than  pretty  plays.  There'll  be 
a  dust-up  one  of  these  days  between  M.J,  and  Masters' 
crowd,  an'  if  you  look  close,  it'll  be  M.J.  who'll  be  shakin' 
down  his  cuffs  after  the  fight.    You  take  it  from  me." 

""What  are  you  supposed  to  do?"  he  asked, 

"Look  pretty,"  she  flashed, 

"That's  easy  work,"  he  commented.  "And  does  the 
great  M.J,  pay  well  for  looks?" 

"Not  as  well  as  he  might.  But  it's  early  days.  He's 
free  with  his  coin  otherwise.  Five  pound  note  under 
every  plate  on  his  birthday  last  week.  M.J.'s  a  prince. 
Not  that  we  couldn't  do  with  more  than  £3  a  week. 
There's  plenty  to  do  on  it,  and  Treasury  seems  a  year 
off  by  Tuesday  morning.  I  owe  old  Bignett  two  weeks. 
I  s'pose  you're  not  feeling  too  flush." 

Philip  owed  her  something.  An  indefinite  feeling  of 
shame  pricked  at  him.  Half  an  hour  ago  he  had  been 
begging  Margaret  to  marry  him.  The  contrast  was 
sharp — and  yet  Mazie  had  meant  a  great,  flooding  experi- 
ence to  him.    He  took  three  sovereigns  from  his  pocket. 

"Look  here,  old  girl.  A  word  of  advice.  Keep  square 
with  the  landladies,  even  if  you  go  a  bit  short  on  clothes. 
Send  Mrs.  Bignett  a  postal  note."  He  pressed  the 
money  into  her  hand.  "You'll  have  to  be  careful  on 
£3  a  week. 

"Specially  if  you  only  get  two  out  of  that,"  Mazie 
said.    "You're  a  brick,  Phil.    I'll  let  j^ou  have  it  again." 

"Only  £2.    How's  that?"  he  took  her  up, 

**0h,  I  borrowed  a  tenner  from  M.J.  for  exes.- — shoes 
and  frills,  y'know.  He  discourages  red  flannel  thing- 
ummies.  Treasury  keeps  back  a  quid  till  I'm  square 
with  the  world." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         163 

**How  does  he  expect  you  to  live  in  the  meantime?" 

"His  troubles,"  she  laughed.  ''Scratch  round,  I  sup- 
pose.    That's  the  girl's  business." 

"That's  rotten."  His  generosity,  always  quick,  was 
touched,  "That's  asking  for  trouble.  I  sa}^  wait  here 
a  shake."  A  little  while  before  he  had  seen  Peter's  big 
figure  hovering  near  the  entrance  gate.  Philip  signaled 
him. 

"Want  to  introduce  you  to  a  friend,"  he  said.  "This 
is  Peter  Wister,  Mazie.  For  downright,  hard-boiled 
common  sense,  he's  a  champion.  I  warn  you,  he's  not 
frivolous.  He 's  going  to  be  your  guardian,  understand  1 ' ' 
He  turned  to  his  friend.  "Peter,"  he  said,  "this  kid  is 
a  silly,  impulsive,  extravagant  little  ass,  with  hardly 
enough  to  live  on.  She's  been  a  good  sort  to  me,  and 
I'm  going  to  make  you  responsible  for  her.  Lecture  her, 
scold  her — you  can  smack  her  if  you  like.  If  she's  really 
up  against  it  for  cash,  dole  her  out  a  sovereign  or  two, 
never  more.  Debit  me.  She's  a  legacy,  Peter,  and  I 
hand  her  to  you  as  such." 

Peter  stared  dumbly  at  his  new  ward,  who  rippled  into 
sudden  laughter. 

"He  doesn't  look  much  like  a  grandpa,"  she  said; 
"but  that's  what  I'm  going  to  call  him.  Is  he  to  tuck 
me  into  my  little  beddie-byes?  I'll  bet  I  get  him  into 
mischief." 

"I'll  bet  you  don't,"  retorted  Philip,  grimly. 
"Where  are  you  living?" 

"Only  came  over  yesterday.  My  friend  and  I  are 
going  to  room  together.    Last  night  we  stayed  at  a  hotel. " 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Chuff ,"  began  Peter. 

"Too  expensive,"  said  Philip,  hastily,  frowning  at 
Peter.  "They'll  easily  find  'digs.'  There's  the  bell. 
I'll  have  to  hop  it." 

"  I  '11  see  she 's  fixed, ' '  promised  Peter.  ' '  Any  message 
to  Margaret  ? ' ' 

"N — no,"  said  Philip.  The  whistle  blew,  and  the  long 
Express  pulled  out. 

"Who's  Margaret?"  asked  Mazie,  impudently. 


164        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"A  friend  of  ours,"  the  guileless  Peter  informed  her. 
"I  say,  was  that  a  joke  about  putting  you  in  my  charge?" 

"Not  it,"  slie  affirmed;  "so  don't  you  renege  on  your 
promise,  Grandpa."  She  gurgled  delightedly  to  see  him 
blush. 

"Anything  in  reason  I  can  do,"  he  promised. 

"And  where  will  an  S.O.S.  reach  you?"  she  wanted 
to  know. 

He  penciled  the  address  on  a  card.     Then  he  left  her. 

It  never  entered  Peter's  head  that  Philip  could  have 
had  any  reason  for  his  attitude  to  Mazie.  Sex  is  a  sub- 
ject on  which  youth  is,  in  general,  very  shy.  There  is 
a  period  when  sudden  knowledge  blares  into  surprised 
speech,  in  an  effort  to  find  out  if  experience  is  common. 
But  the  advance  is  halting  and  shamefaced,  and  is  met 
with  a  reception  that  chides  it  into  uneasy  silence. 

At  Queen's,  however,  in  that  splendid  license  which 
fearlessness  grants  to  the  questioning  mind,  there  had 
been  the  relief  of  speech.  Discussions  sprang  up  out  of 
nothing,  and  this  mj^sterious  quality  of  sex  had  been 
held  up  and  examined,  its  texture  had  been  handled  and 
tested;  it  had,  moreover,  been  the  subject  of  cold,  dis- 
passionate, almost  metaphysical  argument,  in  which 
desire  died  away,  whilst  at  the  other  pole  of  interest, 
it  had  served  as  a  basis  of  warm,  introspective  analysis. 

There  had  been  occasions,  too,  where  this  had  paved 
the  way  for  intimate  confession  of  individual  weakness. 
The  place  of  "Woman  in  the  Cosmos  gave  way,  suddenly 
and  urgently,  to  the  place  of  Woman  in  the  particular. 

How  keenly  Peter  recalled  the  seismic  night,  when, 
in  the  company  of  half  a  dozen  men,  such  a  talk  began 
on  an  arid,  high  plane  of  ethics.  On  an  instant  it  blazed, 
lighting  up  vividly  the  dark  place  in  one  man's  soul. 
Henry  Jenner,  studying  for  the  Methodist  ministry,  a 
quiet,  unassuming,  retiring,  capable  man,  of  an  unob- 
trusive influence,  listened  to  Philip's  views. 

"Women  are  sacred  to  me,"  said  Philip.  "Those 
beasts  who  can't  think  of  love  apart  from  the  sexual 
impulse  ought  to  be  drowned."  And,  with  the  vast 
ignorance  of  youth  at  its  sweetest,  its  purest,  most  chival- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         165 

rous,  most  dogmatic,  most  intolerant  stage,  he  had  there- 
upon enunciated  views  in  which  chastity  in  marriage 
formed  an  amazing  ideal. 

Jenner  suddenly  burst  out. 

''Chastity!  What  an  impossible  ideal.  You  fools! 
You  blasted  fools!  It  sickens  me  to  see  you  pull  out 
your  little  foot-rules  and  proceed  to  measure  humanity. 
You  and  your  ignorant  word-spinning  about  elemental 
forces!  You're  like  gnats  flying  round  big  machinery 
in  motion,  thinking  they're  producing  it.  I'm  tortured — 
day  after  day  and  night  after  night;  I'm  obsessed  by 
the  thought  of  women ;  maddened  by  a  thirst  for  women. 
If  I  were  allowed  to  marry,  it  would  be  different;  but 
the  church  forbids  marriage  until  I  have  reached  a  cer- 
tain position.  Just  at  an  age  when  a  man  ought  to 
marry,  civilization  says  he  mustn  't,  because  of  a  damned 
economical  obstacle.  It's  killing  me.  I've  got  to  leave 
the  church.  Can't  you  see  the  tremendous  place  sex 
holds  in  the  world  ?  First  place,  as  God  meant  it  to  be ; 
else  why  did  He  give  us  this  fierce  creative  instinct?" 

One  of  the  most  horrified  at  that  uncontrollable,  primal 
outburst  was  Philip,  with  his  pink  and  white  schemes 
for  marital  chastity.  Peter  remembered,  too,  the  sudden 
hush  that  came  upon  the  room,  the  stumbling  exit  of 
Jenner,  the  inconsequent,  idiotic  babbling  of  the  others, 
in  a  vain  effort  to  throw  upon  the  air  syllables)  that  should 
banish  the  echoes  of  that  terrible  cry  from  the  heart. 
Then  the  tremendously  unconcerned  departure  of  the 
three  men,  who  had  listened  with  Peter  and  Philip — 
*  *  Good-night,  you  chaps ' ' — * '  Good-night,  old  son.  Shove 
this  letter  out  for  the  post;  it's  got  to  go  to-night." 

Jenner  had  gone — out  into  the  waters  w^hich  had  closed 
over  his  head. 

For  long  he  remained  for  Peter  as  an  abnormality, 
a  diseased  being  with  a  deformed  mind.  Philip's  purity 
had  shone  the  brighter  because  of  it,  and  by  that  Peter 
would  have  sworn  as  by  his  gods.  His  own  nature  had 
been  repressed  on  that  account.  Philip's  ideals  must  be 
his  ideals.  A  reverence  for  women  that  accounted  them 
all  equal,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  outcasts,  a  soiled 


166        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

fringe  of  an  otherwise  immaculate  garment,  held  him  to 
his  determination. 

Thus  he  accepted  Mazie  in  good  faith  as  a  pal  who 
had  been  good  to  Phil  in  dark  days. 

It  was  a  week  before  he  heard  from  her. 

"Come  and  see  me,"  a  note  ran,  "I'm  in  a  mess,  and 
I  need  Grandpa,    Tona  of  love. — Mazie." 

He  smiled  at  the  "tons  of  love."  Green  as  he  was, 
he  w^as  shrewd  enough  to  estimate  at  its  value  the  facile 
love  of  a  chorus  girl,  which  was  weighed  out  to  new 
acquaintances  in  "tons."  It  w'as  five  o'clock.  He  put 
on  his  hat  and  went  round  to  the  house.  Surprisingly 
it  was  in  the  next  street. 

"Miss  Seftou?"  repeated  the  woman  who  opened  the 
door,  fastening  the  top  button  of  a  shapeless  garment 
which  protected  a  better  one  underneath  from  the  grime 
of  housework.  "All  right.  Go  up.  It's  just  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs.    Six  is  the  number." 

He  was  invited  to  enter.  It  was  a  bedroom,  with  two 
beds  in  it.  Cheap,  tawdry  knicknacks  adorned  the  walls, 
hideous  with  a  shiny  paper,  that  imitated  ugly  marble. 
Eibbons  were  tied  to  whatever  would  take  them.  A 
huge  "kewpie"  sat  in  smiling,  vacuous  nakedness  on 
the  table,  which  was  covered  by  a  tablecloth,  threadbare, 
stained,  faded. 

Mazie  was  doing  her  hair  in  front  of  the  glass,  her 
fine  arms  held  aloft,  bare  of  any  covering,  a  pale-blue 
slip-bodice  allowing  full  revelation  of  their  shapeliness. 
She  turned  her  head  as  he  entered. 

"It's  Grandpa,"  she  welcomed  him.  "And  prompt, 
I  will  say.  Half  a  tick  and  the  roof  will  be  on."  She 
deftly  twisted  the  heavy  plaits,  and  with  her  first  two 
fingers  coiled  them  on  her  head,  pinning  them  into 
position. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  asked  the  direct  Peter. 

"Squattez-vous,"  she  invited,  and  motioned  to  the  bed. 
He  sat. 

"What's  the  mess?"  He  varied  the  inquiry.  He 
tried  to  look  unconcerned  at  being  in  a  girl's  bedroom. 
What  man,  born  of  woman,  will  not  pretend  he  is  used 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         167 

to  delicate  situations?  But  still  he  got  a  little  thrill, 
partly  of  horror,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  pleasure  in 
adventure,  when  she  crossed  the  room  and  locked  the 
door. 

"No  sense  in  letting  Florrie  butt  in,"  she  said,  calmly. 
"I'm  broke,  Grandpa,"  she  added. 

"Broke!"  he  echoed. 

"Just  like  that,"  she  mocked,  with  an  inflection  that 
imitated  his.  "I've  not  a  penny  to  pay  the  old  girl 
downstairs,  and  to-morrow  I'll  be  a  full  member  of  the 
*Out-you-go'  Society,  unless  I  find  the  money." 

"Just  a  vulgar  'touch,'  "  thought  Peter,  in  spite  of 
his  ordinary  chivalrous  viewpoint,  and  then,  in  one 
astounding  second,  she  was  crjdng  on  the  bed  beside 
him,  all  her  pitiful  attempt  at  pertness  gone.  More 
astonishing  still,  she  was  crying  damply  on  Peter's  unre- 
sponsive shoulder,  and  he  found  himself  dabbing  at  her 
with  a  big  handkerchief,  and  patting  her  inefficiently. 

"Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  he  said,  and  it  seemed 
that  he  had  actually  taken  command  of  the  situation. 
He  was  a  man.    She  sat  up,  and  dried  her  eyes. 

"It  was  Treasury  last  night,"  she  explained,  "and 
I'd  drawn  £2,  'cos  they're  keeping  a  quid  back  to  pay 
off  a  tenner  they  lent  me.  I  went  to  supper  with  a  chap — 
Florrie,  that's  my  friend,  had  another  fellow.  They 
were  in  front,  at  the  show.  My  chap  collared  my  bag, 
in  fun,  you  know,  and  when  he  gave  it  to  me  back,  the 
money  had  gone." 

"But  you  ought  to  have  given  him  in  charge,"  said 
Peter,  hotly. 

"Aw,  a  girl  can't  go  getting  herself  mixed  up  with 
the  police.  It  was  just  a  joke,  I  thought.  But  he  said 
he  had  really  dropped  it,  when  he  was  fooling  in  the 
street.    Anj^vay,  there  it  is." 

"Didn't  he  offer  to  pay  it  back?"  asked  Peter. 

"Not  he.  He  had  hardly  enough  to  pay  for  the  sup- 
per, he  said.'' 

"The  swine!"  shouted  the  indignant  Peter.  "The 
unspeakable  bounder!  Who  was  he?  You've  got  to 
tell  me." 


168        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"I  don't  know." 

"But  his  name?" 

"How  should  I  know?  I  called  him  'Bert.'  His 
friend  called  him  that." 

"But — good  Lord,  what  the  devil  do  you  want  to  go 
to  supper  with  a  beast  like  that  for?"  Peter  was  raging. 
Was  it  an  orderly,  sensible  old  world  or  not?  "Why 
the  devil  can't  you  come  home  like  a  decent  girl  after 
the  show,  and  go  to  bed?  You  deserve  to  lose  your 
money." 

"Here,  steady.  Grandpa,"  she  begged.  "I  went  to 
supper  'cos  I  jolly  well  wanted  to  eat.  I  was  empty 
as  a  drum.    So'd  you  be  after  a  scone  and  a  cup  of  tea." 

"But  why  not  feed  yourself  decently?"  he  broke  out. 

She  smiled  at  his  ignorance. 

"Aw,  d'ye  think  it  runs  to  three  meals  a  day,  as  well 
as  a  room?"  she  mocked.  "Look  here,  a  lotta  people 
think  we  girls  have  a  gay  an'  giddy  time,  with  our 
champagne  suppers  an'  all.  It's  a  rumor,  dearie,  that 
what's  it  is,  a  rumor.  We  get  £3  a  week — £2  for  little 
Mazie  for  the  next  few  weeks — I  pay  a  quid  for  a  room 
and  breakfast,  and  a  beauty  chorus  must  dress  decently 
on  the  street ;  you'd  soon  hear  from  Crotty  if  you  didn't 
— there's  shoes  and  stockings,  there's  undies  and  what- 
nots Grandpa's  too  innocent  ever  to  have  heard  of,  an' 
there's  hats,  gloves  and  frocks.  There  ain't  much  change 
left  for  meals.  Well,  we  always  try  to  get  'em  on  the 
nod.  If  a  Willie-boy  wants  to  take  me  to  lunch,  why, 
let  him,  and  if  I'm  clever  enough  to  jolly  him  along  and 
get  something  for  nothing,  that's  one  to  me." 

Peter  grew  red. 

"Perhaps  he  won't  give  something  for  nothing,"  he 
suggested. 

"Well,  p'raps  he  won't.  But  it's  always  a  little 
while  before  he  finds  j-ou're  not  going  to  pay.  Then 
it  just  depends  on  how  much  up  against  it  you  are." 
she  said. 

"But  you're  up  for  sale,"  he  put  it  to  her,  bluntly. 

"You  can  sometimes  dodge  the  buyer,"  she  retorted; 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         169 

"anyway,  I  have  up  to  now.  I  don't  call  Phil  a  buyer. 
That  was  different." 

He  missed  the  point,  in  his  desperate  attempt  to 
unravel  a  new  social  problem.  All  very  well  to  say 
that  these  girls  are  not  forced  to  take  the  position. 

"You  mean  to  say  j^ou  have  to  allure  and  entice  men 
like  that  rotter  to  feed  you,  because  otherwise  you  might 
have  to  go  without?" 

"Clever  Grandpa,"  she  said. 

"And  if  they  insist  on  the  price,  you've  got  to  pay?" 

"Some  of  the  girls  have  to.  It's  a  gamble,"  she  said, 
unaware  how  her  blunt  statement  of  a  daily  situation 
grated  on  his  nerves. 

"Then  it's  damnable,"  he  burst  out. 

"Of  course  you're  right,  dearie,  but  where  does  that 
get  us?  I  can't  go  down  to  Mrs.  Lance  and  tell  her  my 
Grandpa  says  it's  damnable  that  I  can't  pay  her,  can  I?" 

"And  do  the  girls  dislike  all  this  cadging  for  lunch 
and  dinner?"  he  asked. 

""Well,  to  be  quite  honest,  some  of  'em  don't  care 
twopence  as  long  as  they  save  on  it  themselves.  Others 
hate  it.  We  all  know  men  are  absolute  rotters.  There 's 
always  the  chance  that  we  can  get  on  with  another  fellow 
before  Number  One  turns  nasty.  It's  rather  fun  if 
you  keep  your  nerve." 

"Here,  I'll  leave  this  for  you,"  said  Peter,  suddenly 
sick  of  the  tawdry  room,  of  the  blue  slip,  of  the  grinning 
kewpie.    He  got  up. 

"Thanks,  old  boy.  I  knew  you'd  see  me  through  for 
Phil's  sake."  She  unlocked  the  door.  Then  she  turned 
naturally  to  him,  and  put  her  arms  up. 

"You're  a  good  sort,  Algernon,"  she  said;  "come 
again." 

It  was  in  his  mind  to  tell  her  that  he  was  not  one  that 
need  be  dodged,  but  he  refrained. 

She  gave  him,  unprotesting  and  passive,  the  easy  kiss 
of  the  girl  to  whom  kisses  mean  nothing.  A  thought 
struggled  for  utterance  in  his  mind.  He  might  save 
her  from  some  of  the  worst  of  this  hunting. 

"I — I'm  good  for  a  lunch  sometimes,"  he  stammered. 


170        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Perhaps  you  might  turn  down  those  rotters  for  good, 
if  you  knew  I  was  a  stand-by." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Righto.  Mazie's  on.  But  what  do  you  get  out  of 
it?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  want  a  damn  thing  out  of  it,"  said  Peter, 
violently,  and  slammed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"Prophets  have  honor  all  over  the  Earth, 

Except    in    the    village    where    they    were    horn; 
Where  such  as  knew   them  boys  from  birth 
Nature-ally  hold    'em  in  scorn." 

— Prophets  at  Home 

FROM  Sydney  Philip  traveled  with  the  Company 
to  Brisbane  for  a  short  season,  and  after  a  return 
visit  to  Sydney  dates  for  Western  Australia  and 
New  Zealand  had  to  be  fulfilled, 

Margaret  received  letters  with  flattering  frequency, 
letters  full  of  acute  comments  on  the  places  he  was  visit- 
ing, but  singularly  devoid  of  human  interest.  It  was 
typical  of  Philip's  attitude  to  life.  People  never  inter- 
ested him  in  the  mass,  though  he  was  capable  of^  the 
most  sincere  admiration  of  individuals  whose  circle 
chanced  to  cut  his  own  orbit. 

With  reservations,  Peter  was  quite  alert  enough  to 
note,  these  letters  were  read  aloud,  in  the  peaceful 
atmosphere  of  No.  One,  Contentment  Road.  One  piece 
of  news  delighted  them  both. 

*'I  am  working  hard  on  the  play  once  more,"  he 
wrote  from  Western  Australia,  **  being  intensely  bored 
with  this  hole  and  the  uninteresting  crowd  I  am  travel- 
ing with.  It  just  supplies  an  urgent  need,  and,  as  we 
seldom  rehearse  these  days,  I  lock  myself  into  my  room 
and  write,  I'm  going  to  try  and  persuade  Masters  to 
overcome  his  prejudice  for  local  work,  and  produce  the 
thing." 

"It  will  be  sparkling,  like  himself,"  Margaret 
prophesied, 

''His  stagecraft  ought  to  be  good,"  Peter  thought; 

171 


172        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"not  many  men  have  had  his  practical  experience,  and 
stagecraft  is  almost  more  important  than  plot." 

Peter  spoke  with  the  sureness  of  knowledge.  Ingram 
had  at  last  placed  him  on  the  staff  of  the  paper,  and 
he  had  been  doing  the  dramatic  criticism  for  two  months, 
on  the  understanding  that  he  must  not  say  all  he  thought. 

With  those  orders,  Peter  had  not  made  much  of  a 
reputation  for  dramatic  taste.  Headers  who  had  chafed 
at  a  bad  play  read  his  mild  praise  and  shrugged  their 
shoulders  at  his  ideas.  An  office  boy  could  have  reviewed 
plays  quite  as  well  as  any  critic  on  the  staff  of  an 
Australian  daily. 

Philip  came  back  to  Sydney,  his  finished  play  in  his 
bag,  prepared  to  make  his  first  onslaught  in  a  new  role. 
He  waylaid  Masters  on  the  first  opportunity. 

Masters  was  an  enormous  mass  of  a  man,  shrewd,  not 
over  well-educated,  but  with  an  uncanny  sense  of 
dramatic  values. 

He  looked  at  Philip  with  little,  twinkling  eyes. 

"A  play,  eh?  Yours?  See  here,  Lee,  I've  known 
many  a  good  actor  turn  into  a  rotten  bad  playwright. 
You  stick  to  grease-paint." 

"I  want  to  look  at  the  stage  from  the  front,  for  a 
change,  Mr.  Masters.  I  think  I  can  write  a  good  play. 
All  I  want  you  to  say  is  this — if  you  think  it  is  any 
good.  Don't  turn  it  down  because  it's  not  been  tried 
out  abroad." 

"Not  on  your  life.  We're  looking  for  good  things, 
and  we  don't  care  a  tiny,  tinker's  curse  where  they  come 
from." 

No  Australian  manager  can  be  got  to  admit  that  he 
is  afraid  of  an  Australian  play,  yet  practically  none  has 
been  produced  originally  in  its  land  of  origin.  The 
imprimatur  of  the  "big  men"  has  always  been  awaited. 

"I'd  like  to  read  it  to  you,"  proposed  Philip,  with 
the  beautiful  faith  of  every  young  dramatist  that  the 
nobles  lines  will  suffer  in  the  cold  indifference  of 
the  managerial  eye.     What  if  he  should  skip! 

Masters  roared  at  him. 

"Not  on  your  life!    Leave  the  dam'  thing  here,  and 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         173 

I'll  give  it  the  'once  over.'  Don't  think  I  can  touch  it 
till  the  week  after  next.  I've  got  that  'Wallingford' 
company  on  the  incoming  boat,  and  I'm  full  to  the 
neck." 

The  postponement  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  the 
author.  An  immediate  reading,  a  dawning  look  of 
interest  that  became  gradual  absorption,  a  delighted 
holding  out  of  the  fat  hands,  an  eager,  ' '  Splendid !  We  '11 
do  it  for  you,  my  boy.  What  are  your  terms?" — these 
had  been  quite  ordinary  concomitants  of  his  day  dreams. 
This  callous,  cold  reception  chilled  him  enormously. 

"Not  till  then!"  he  echoed,  dismally. 

"Try  some  of  the  others  first,  and  then  bring  it  to 
me,"  recommended  Masters,  swinging  his  fat  bulk  in 
his  chair,  and  tossing  the  precious  manuscript  back  to 
its  begetter. 

This  was  worse  still.  So  little  did  he  appreciate  the 
chance  that  he  was  willing  to  let  his  rivals  avail  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity. 

Philip  rolled  up  the  parcel.    His  spirits  were  at  zero. 

"Soulless  beast!"  he  thought,  and  coldly  muttered  a 
good-bye. 

"  'Bye,"  shouted  Masters.  "Take  this  letter,  Miss 
Dean,"  and  straightway  forgot  Philip. 

In  his  sore  mood,  he  thought  with  grim  pleasure  of 
Mazie's  prophecy  that  M.  J.  Field  would  wipe  the  floor 
with  Masters  and  Edwards,  He  hoped  he  would.  Field ! 
Didn't  somebody  tell  him  that  Field  was  putting  a 
Comedy  Company  on  the  road?  He  was  a  good  Aus- 
tralian, whatever  else  he  was.  Didn't  he  make  a  spe- 
cialty of  Australian  stars?  "NVhy  not  of  Australian 
plays? 

He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel,  and  made  his  way  to 
Field's  office.  After  an  hour's  waiting  he  was  shown 
into  the  room. 

A  large  room,  with  an  enormous  leather  settee  along 
one  side  of  it.  A  sideboard  with  assorted  drinks  occu- 
pied a  prominent  position,  not  too  far  from  the  hand- 
some center  table,  so  that  the  entrepreneur  could  reach 
for  sustenance  without  getting  up.     A  thick,  handsome 


17i        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

carpet  deadened  all  sound  on  the  floor,  A  few  pictures, 
several  Norman  Lindsay  sketches,  more  or  less  erotic, 
and  mj^riads  of  photographs  of  beautiful  women  covered 
the  four  walls.  It  was  the  sanctum  of  a  devotee.  This 
man  worshiped  beauty — the  beauty  of  the  human  body, 
whether  it  was  the  clean,  muscular,  silk}^  beauty  of  the 
stripped  prizefighter,  or  the  soft,  curving  lines  of  a 
woman.  It  appeared  in  every  feature  of  his  room,  which 
held  in  its  atmosphere  the  subtle  aroma  of  the  merchan- 
dise in  which  Field  dealt.  It  appeared  in  the  man  him- 
self, as  he  sat  at  his  table,  a  smile  on  his  dark  face, 
a  soft  fire  in  his  fine  eyes;  it  appeared  in  his  lips,  full 
and  well-shaped,  the  lips  of  a  man  with  an  appreciation 
of  the  fatness  of  life,  its  wines,  its  horses,  its  music, 
its  women. 

Some  one  has  called  Field  the  foulest-tongued  and 
best  hearted  man  in  Australia.  It  may  very  possibly  be 
so.  Certain  it  is  that  there  is  no  corner  of  the  continent 
but  contains  some  man  or  woman  who  can  speak  from  the 
heart  of  his  generosity.  The  woman  who  has  been  unfor- 
tunate has  been  helped  to  her  feet,  times  without  number. 
"What  matters  it  if  the  kindness  has  been  accompanied 
by  a  jest  offensive  to  ears  polite?  More  than  likely  it 
was  made  to  relieve  the  recipient  of  his  bounty  of  any 
feeling  of  embarrassment. 

He  delighted  to  plant  in  land  where  other  men  had 
failed  to  reap  harvest.  He  it  was  who  first  broke  the 
fetish  that  Australians  would  only  pay  money  to  hear 
imported  stars.  Others  had  tried  and  failed.  When 
he  turned  a  beautiful  chorus  girl  into  a  leading-woman, 
he  was  boyish  in  his  pride  and  delight  in  the  achieve- 
ment, and  his  triumph  was  invariably  graced  by  the 
girl  whom  he  had  last  placed  in  the  theatrical  heaven. 
"Field  always  hitches  his  wagon  to  his  star,"  someone 
wittily  remarked,  and  the  mat  gained  popularity.  Field 
heard  it,  and  helped  it  to  new  notoriety. 

Unlike  most  men  of  the  type,  he  was  hugely  popular 
with  other  men.  His  good  nature,  his  love  of  a  jest, 
even  if  it  were  against  himself,  his  phenomenal  success, 
which  he  called  his  luck,  all  helped  to  make  him  accep- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        175 

table,  in  spite  of  a  certain  blatancy  he  displayed.  And 
finally,  he  was  accessible  to  everybody,  however  doubtful 
the  applicant  might  be.  He  called  this  "never  overlook- 
ing a  bet." 

Philip  wag  greeted  with  cordiality,  being  well-known 
to  Field  by  sight. 

"Hullo,  old  man ;  come  to  tell  me  you're  ready  to  sign 
on  with  me?"  he  greeted  him,  thrusting  a  box  of  giant 
cigars  towards  the  part  of  the  table  where  Philip's  chair 
was  facing. 

"Not  just  yet,"  smiled  Philip. 

"You  might  go  a sight  further  and  fare  a 

sight  worse,"  was  the  easy  reply. 

"I'm  sure  of  that,"  said  Philip.  "Wherever  I  go  I 
hear  your  praises  sung." 

* '  The  hell  you  do.    I  'm  glad  of  that.    So  many  of  these 

that  work  for  me  are  just ,  and  you  can  send 

that  to  the  papers  and  say  M.J.  said  so." 

"If  I  sent  the  remark  to  the  papers,  there 'd  be  no 
need  to  say  who  said  it,"  laughed  Philip.  "It  carries 
its  own  autograph." 

"Oh,   you're   one   of   those   sarcastic   ,"    Field 

growled.  "Never  know  where  I  am  with  hounds  like 
you.  Well,  have  a  drink,  anyway."  He  leaned  back, 
and  reached  a  bottle  and  a  couple  of  glasses  from  the 
sideboard. 

** Thanks."  There  was  silence.  The  gurgle  of  the 
whisky  and  the  clink  of  the  glasses  made  pleasing  duet. 
Then: 

"Chin-chin,"  said  Field,  and  Philip  completed  the 
solemn  ritual. 

"Now!"    It  was  an  iavitation  to  begin  business. 

**You're  Australian,  first,  last  and  all  the  time,  I've 
heard,  Mr.  Field,"  began  Philip. 

"There's  a  touch  coming.  I  feel  it,"  phophesied 
M.J.  "I  won't  admit  I  am,  till  I  see  where  the  admis- 
sion's going  to  land  me." 

**I've  got  a  play ,"  commenced  Philip,  plunging. 

Field  jumped  from  his  chair,  hands  spread  out  in 
defense. 


176        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

* '  Help ! "  he  yelped.     ' '  Anything  but  that.     Not  a- 
-play,  I  ask  you. 


Philip  hastened  to  disavow  the  color,  at  least. 

''What  are  you  frightened  of?"  he  asked,  when  Field 
had  resumed  his  seat. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Lee,  on  the  understanding  it  goes  no 
further.  Australians  can't  write  plays;  there  you  have 
it  in  a nutshell." 

"Haddon  Chambers  was  an  Australian,"  Philip 
argued. 

"Are you  a  Haddon  Chambers?"  inquired  Field.  "If 
you  are,  I  '11 well  back  you  with  my  whole roll. ' ' 

"I  think  I  am,"  plunged  Philip.  "Now  it's  up  to 
you  to  read  my  stuff  and  pass  an  opinion  yourself." 

"Well,  I  like  your  decorated  guts!"  ex- 
claimed Field.  "What  is  it?  Not  an  oratorio!  That's 
the  one  thing  I  won't  produce." 

"A  comedy,"  said  Philip, 

"High-brow?"  inquired  Field.  "There's  no  money 
in  high-brow  stuff." 

"A  baby  could  understand  it,"  Philip  assured  him. 

"Any  erotic  bits?  I'm  down  on  that  sort  of  thing, 
unless  it's  in  silver  paper." 

"Nothing  to  offend  a  girl  of  sixteen,"  the  author 
guaranteed. 

"That's  not  the  point.  Anything  to  shock  her 
mother?" 

"Not  a  thing." 

"Right.    So  far.    Now  let's  have  a  look." 

"Let  me  read  you  the  first  act,"  begged  Philip. 

"I'm  choosing  a  prize  beauty  at  11  o'clock,"  Field 
said.  "But  I'll  have  a  go  at  it  this  afternoon,  and  mark 
down  the  points  for  laughs." 

"What?"  asked  Philip. 

"That's  how  I  judge  a  play,  by  the  laughter;  that  is, 
if  it's  a  comedy.  I  give  ten  marks  for  a  scream,  eight 
for  a  gurgle,  six  for  a  ripple,  four  for  a  giggle,  while 
smiles  work  out  at  two,  and  for  a  sudden  yelp  in  a  bar- 
ren place  I  allot  as  high  as  twelve.  A  side  must  measure 
up  to  100,  or  the  play's  no good." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        177 

^  Philip  yelped  himself  at  this  original  way  of  judging 
literary  work. 

''That's  right;   go   on,   laugh  your  head   off! 

There's  a  dam'  sight  more  sense  in  my  way  than  waiting 

for  an  audience  to  give  you  the bird.    Not  that  you 

can't  fall  in  whichever  way  you  go.  Go  on,  clear  out 
an'  tell  *em  outside  to  pass  in  them  beauties  one  by  one. 
You  hounds  will  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  your  fool 
heads  when  M.J.  drafts  this  lot  of  fillies." 

*'_How  do  you  decide  on  their  points?"  inquired  Philip, 
curiously. 

**The  Associate  Director  looks  'em  over  first — legs, 
hips,  chest,  face — and  then  he  sends  the  undamaged  ones 
in  to  me.  It's  the  best  indoor  sport  there  is.  Toddle 
along,  I  can  hear  the  mob.  And  come  again  to-morrow 
and  hear  about  this  rubbish."  He  tossed  the  manuscript 
into  a  drawer,  and  smiled  friendly  dismissal.  Philip 
came  out,  and  passed  through  a  crowd  of  assorted  girls 
with  a  warm  feeling  of  liking  for  the  quaint  personality 
of  the  man  who  had  it  in  his  power  to  start  him  on  a 
new  career. 

** There  goes  Philip  Lee,"  he  heard  a  loud  whisper, 
and  a  chorus  of  laughter. 

**If  M.J.  went  on  his  play  system,  some  of  those  would 
mark  high  for  giggles,"  he  thought. 

The  next  day  he  called  again. 

*'Well,  I've  read  it,"  said  M.J.    "And  I  tell  you  I'm 

in  a maze.     I'm  not  saying  it's  not  clever.     It  is 

clever.     I   laughed,    too — dam'    funny,  situations 

but me  if  ever  I  heard  a  servant  talk  as  that  bird 

you  bring  on  does.  Of  course,  she  makes  'm  laugh, 
but — oh,  Lord,  I  dunno.  There's  something  about  it 
I'm  scared  of.  I'm  new  at  this  play  business.  Girls 
I  know,  and  revues  I  can  buy,  and  'long's  you  sling 
catchy  music  and  shapely  legs  at  the  crowd,  they'll  buzz 

around,  and  cash  up  at  the  box-office;  but  this  

thing  of  yours,  well,  I  tell  you  I  'm well  beat.    I  'd 

like  to  do  it,  and  in  a  way  I  think  I  could  put  it  over 
by  spendin'  a  hell  of  a  lot  on  ads.  and  workin'  the  all- 
Australian    dodge    overtime;    let's    see "    his  voice 


178        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

trailed  off,  as  he  reckoned  up  the  cost,  *'we  could  do 
with  only  the  one  setting,  and  I've  got  the  stui?  for  that. 

The  mounting  wouldn't  come  to  a  hell  of  a  lot — I'll 

risk  it,  damned  if  I  won't  and  I'll  show  those  hounds 

they  needn't well  go  to  London  for  a  show.    Yes, 

Lee,  I'll  gamble  on  it,  but  you've  got  to  take  a  risk 
with  me.  No  advance  royalties,  understand.  If  it  goes, 
all  well  and  good — if  it's  a  frost,  you're  in  the  cart  with 
M.J,    Does  that  go?" 

"You're  all  they  said  you  were,  M.J.,"  said  Philip. 

"You  needn't  get  nasty,"  said  Field.  "How  about 
a drink?" 


1 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"And  what  is  Art  whereto  we  press 

Through  paint  and  prose  and  rhyme, — 
When  Nature  in  her  naJcedness 
Defeats  u^  every  time?" 

— The  Benefactors 

PHILIP,  as  ever  acting  on  first  impulse,  had  no 
sooner  arranged  the  details  of  the  production 
with  Field,  than  he  brought  to  an  end  his  con- 
nection with  Masters  and  Edwards.  His  year  was  up, 
butthe  contract  provided  for  an  extension  at  the  firm's 
option.  ^  They  had  been  dilly-dallying,  attempting  to 
screw  him  down  in  his  demands  for  an  increase  of  salary, 
and  in  the  attempt  had  over-reached  themselves,  for  by 
a  blunder  they  allowed  their  days  of  grace  to  flit  by, 
without  nailing  the  elusive  Philip  down.  He  availed 
himself  of  the  loop-hole,  and,  in  spite  of  threats  of  a 
law  suit,  he  slipped  out  of  their  clutches. 

This  news,  together  with  the  acceptance  of  the  wonder- 
ful play,  he  wired  to  Margaret.  Hardly  had  she  and 
Peter  got  over  the  surprise,  when  they  received  a  greater 
one.  For  Philip,  having  got  Field  to  promise  a  Mel- 
bourne premiere,  had  followed  hard  upon  his  telegram, 
and  presented  himself  to  the  delighted  Mrs.  Chuff,  with 
a  demand  for  his  own  room. 

Peter  was  out,  but  Margaret  welcomed  him  at  the  door 
of  Number  One,  her  face  all  smiles,  and  a  light  of  wel- 
come in  her  eyes  that  made  the  home-coming  Philip 
feel  that  all  would  yet  be  well  with  him. 

"Well,  this  is  breath  taking,"  she  said,  **and  Field 
has  really  and  truly  taken  the  play!" 

**0f  course."  Philip  tried  to  be  nonchalant.  "Didn't 
I  tell  you  I  would  be  a  great  man?  This  is  only  an 
instalment." 

179 


18Q        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEIVIENT 

They  were  seated,  by  this  time,  and  he  leaned  over 
and  took  her  hands. 

"You  love  me,  Margaret;  your  face  showed  it  as  I 
came  up  the  stairs.  Why  don't  you  make  me  happy 
by  saying  it?"  Hig  voice  possessed  that  velvet  tender- 
ness that  used  to  tlirill  the  women  in  his  audiences.  A 
thought  flushed  Margaret's  brow.  "How  beautifullj^  he 
makes  love!"  It  was  a  remark  she  had  overheard  in 
the  lobby  of  the  theatre. 

And  yet,  this  was  no  make-believe.  She  could  be  sure 
of  that.  He  was  earnest.  Her  eyes  met  his  unwillingly, 
but  she  read  there  an  infinite  longing,  an  enormous 
desire.  "With  a  great  effort,  she  shook  from  her  the 
magnetism  that  was  almost  like  hypnosis. 

*'That  is  forbidden,  Philip,"  she  scolded.  ** Besides, 
the  lowest  step  is  not  the  top  of  the  ladder.  You  have 
far  to  go." 

"But  you  said  you  hated  heights,"  he  countered. 

For  a  moment  she  was  nonplussed.  He  had  turned  her 
own  weapon  against  her. 

"And  if  you  hated  them,  too,  it  would  be  different," 
she  found  voice  to  say.  "But  only  heights  satisfy  you, 
so  you  must  reach  them,  before  you  can  afford  luxuries." 

"How  you  would  help  a  fellow  to  make  a  career," 
he  said,  longingly.  "I've  chucked  the  stage  life  you 
hated,  Margaret.  Be  a  sport,  take  a  chance,  and  let's 
gamble." 

How  persuasive  his  voice  was !  How  the  lonely  months 
of  his  absence  called  to  her!  It  would  be  easy,  delight- 
ful, to  give  him  what  he  wished.  He  would  succeed. 
He  was  just  the  sort,  and  perhaps  she  would  be  able  to 
anchor  him  to  solid  earth.  It  was  a  dangerous  moment. 
Peter  broke  the  spell.  He  came  up  the  stairs  two  at 
a  time,  and  burst  into  the  room,  his  big  hand  outstretched. 

"You  old  bounder,  to  think  of  steading  a  march  on 
us  like  this!  Jove,  this  is  great!  And  how  long  are 
you  going  to  stop  this  trip?" 

Margaret  had  risen  swiftly,  at  his  first  coming,  and 
had  quickly  shaken  herself  into  normal  seeming. 

"Oh,  this  is  an  indefinite  business,  old  son,"  Philip 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        181 

cried,  thumping  his  friend,  exuberantly.  "Behold  the 
new  Haddon  Chambers!" 

"Absolutely  ripping!"  Peter  enthused.  "You're 
thinner,  though;  isn't  he,  Margaret?" 

Margaret  looked  at  him  critically,  trying  desperately 
to  make  her  inspection  without  any  special  significance, 

"Um — rather,"  she  said;  "but  I'm  not  alarmed  about 
him." 

"Now  tell  us  about  the  play,"  begged  Peter.  "Are 
we  to  read  the  masterpiece,  or  it  is  to  burst  on  us  in 
the  glory  of  a  first-night?" 

"Don't  be  more  of  an  ass  than  you  can  help,"  said 
Philip.    "You  can  read  it  whenever  you  want  to." 

"I  vote  we  make  him  read  it  aloud  to  us,  Margaret — 
to-night.  How  does  that  strike  you?"  Peter  was  in  a 
triumphant  mood.  His  belief  in  Philip  never  soared 
so  high. 

"Good  business.  I  know  he's  dying  to,"  Margaret 
commented,  and  the  author  grinned  in  an  embarrassed 
way,  and  called  them  fatheads.  But  he  promised  to  do 
what  they  asked. 

"Have  you  got  a  good  cast?"  asked  Margaret. 
"That's  the  important  point." 

"Field  wanted  me  to  do  lead  myself,  for  the  advertise- 
ment, but — I  don't  know — I  felt  1  wanted  to  be  oh,  you 
know — detached.  You  get  the  wrong  perspective  from 
the  stage." 

"Right,"  commended  Peter;  "the  stage  box  for  the 
blushing  author,  and  a  ripping  speech  at  the  end  of 
the  play — you  know — 'I  little  expected  to  be  called  upon 
to  make  a  speech,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  in  any  case, 
I  have  mislaid  my  notes' — and  then  just  spiflicate  them 
with  an  extempore  speech  that's  taken  you  three  days 
to  work  up." 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  Peter,  Margaret?" 
asked  Philip,  in  surprise.  "Have  you  been  feeding  him 
on  meat?  He's  quite  full  of  conversation,  not  to  men- 
tion gentle  badinage.    I  don't  recognize  him." 

"He's  in  love,  between  ourselves,  Phil,"  said  Mar- 
garet.   "I  caught  him  coming  out  of  a  house  in  Spring 


182        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Street  the  other  afternoon,  with  an  extremely  pretty 
girl  waving  to  him  over  the  balcony.  You  should  have 
seen  his  pinkness,  when  he  caught  my  motherly  eye  upon 
him." 

Peter  was  pink  now.  He  had  been  on  an  errand  of 
periodic  mercy  to  Mazie,  when  Margaret  had  surprised 
him,  and  he  had  debated  whether  he  ought  not  to  tell 
her  who  the  girl  was.  He  had  decided  against  it.  Mazie 
was  a  decent  little  sort,  but  Margaret  was — Margaret. 

"The  sly  beggar,"  Philip  said,  "and  not  a  word  to 
the  family  about  her.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  were 
married.    He's  getting  a  princely  salary,  he  tells  me." 

"It  doesn't  carry  royalties,"  retorted  Peter,  and  this 
brought  them  back  to  the  play  again. 

That  night  the  play  was  read.  There  were  verbal 
fireworks  that  irresistibly  reminded  the  listener  of  Oscar 
"Wilde.  The  play  of  words  was  clever.  If  it  wearied 
by  forcing  the  mind  to  a  continuous  strain  so  as  not  to 
miss  the  essential  word  on  which  the  next  bit  of  dialogue, 
or  a  good  piece  of  repartee,  depended,  it  amused  by  its 
whimsical  twists  and  turns.  But  nothing  happened. 
Nothing  could  happen.  The  people  talked  so  much  that 
there  was  no  room  for  event. 

As  Philip  closed  the  script,  he  looked  up  for  comment. 
Peter's  face  still  wore  the  smile  the  ridiculous  curtain 
**tag"  had  called  up;  Margaret  was  laughing  aloud  in 
real  enjoyment. 

"Ripping,  old  chap — immense.  Fun  enough  in  it  for 
two  comedies,"  he  applauded. 

"And  what  became  of  Amanda,  after  all?"  asked 
Margaret. 

"Oh,  who  the  dickens  cares  what  becomes  of  her?" 
cried  Peter,  and  put  an  unconscious  finger  on  the  hidden 
weakness  of  the  whole  play.  The  characters  did  not 
develop  themselves.  They  interested  one  only  in  their 
neat  remarks,  never  in  themselves.  Nobody  cared  what 
became  of  Amanda,  because  there  was  no  such  person. 
Amanda  was  a  name,  to  which  certain  clever  speeches 
were  assigned,  not  a  person  to  whom  something  might 
happen. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        183 

This  did  not  strike  the  two  friendly  critics,  who  were 
seduced  into  admiration,  firstly  because  the  loved  Philip 
had  penned  those  undeniably  clever  lines,  secondly 
because  a  shrewd  business  man  had  thought  the  thing 
good  enough  to  risk  money  in,  and  thirdly,  owing  to  the 
bright  confidence  with  which  Philip  pointed  out  how  this 
scene  "would  get  'em,"  and  this  situation  would  "take." 

He  was  delighted  with  the  appreciation  they  showed, 
and  graciously  invited  them  to  rehearsals  so  that  they 
would  see  how  a  play  was  built  up. 

Before  rehearsals  began,  however.  Dr.  Payne  was  per- 
mitted to  read  it.  "Amanda  Mustn't"  was  the  title. 
"When  he  laid  it  down  Philip  was  not  in  the  room.  He 
had  gone  down  to  the  theatre. 

"Will  I  be  hanged,  drawn  and  quartered,  if  I  say 
this  isn't  a  great  play?"  he  asked. 

"There  will  be  something  done  to  you  with  boiling 
oil  in  it,"  said  Margaret,  indignantly.  Peter  was  like 
a  ruffled  mastiff.    His  voice  was  gruff,  as  he  asked: 

"Could  you  write  a  better  one,  my  friend?" 

"Oh,  oh,  oh,  and  who's  treading  on  his  friend's  literary 
corns?"  retorted  Payne,  imitating  Peter's  low  growl. 
"In  that  case,  I  must  never  risk  the  opinion  that  it's  not 
a  play  at  all." 

"Then  would  you  inform  a  waiting  world  what  it 
is  ? "  inquired  Margaret,  sweetly,  with  a  dangerous  gleam 
in  her  eye. 

"Yes,  if  I  can  sit  near  the  door.  I'm  not  popular 
enough  to  risk  remaining  where  I  am,"  he  answered. 

"Perhaps  you  think  also  that  M.  J.  Field  doesn't 
know  his  job?"  Peter  suggested. 

"Here,  one  at  a  time,"  the  doctor  stipulated.  "I'll 
take  Margaret  first.  It  isn't  a  play,  because  there's 
precious  little  action  in  it  and  not  a  single  solitary 
crisis.    The  public  likes  suspense." 

"Hear  the  amateur  dramatic  critic!"  scoffed  Mar- 
garet. "The  public  likes  to  be  amused,  and  there's 
enough  amusement  in  Amanda  for  two  plays." 

"True,  damsel,  and  I  may  be  quite  wrong.  If  I  am, 
the  majority  of  the  critics  are  wrong  with  me.    Peter 


184»        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

doesn't  count.  His  critical  powers  are  atrophied  by  his 
daily  work.  And  as  for  Field,  he's  doing  what  every 
manager  does  in  producing  a  new  pla}^  guessing  as  to 
how  that  most  elusive  quality,  popular  opinion,  is  going 
to  function.  He  thinks  the  chances  are  in  favor;  I'm 
inclined  to  think  they're  against.  And  my  guess  is  as 
good  as  his,  before  the  numbers  go  up." 

"Well,  ours  is  as  good  as  yours,"  retorted  Margaret, 
"and  we're  enthusiastically  with  M.  J.  Field." 

"I'd  almost  come  to  that  conclusion,"  Payne  smiled. 
"Well,  had  I  better  remove  this  hated  being  from  your 
sight?  By  the  way,  better  not  tell  Philip  I  had  the 
gall  to  prophesy  evil." 

*  *  We  wouldn  't, ' '  Peter  informed  him.  *  *  This  play  has 
just  got  to  be  a  success.  Phil  has  chucked  the  stage,  and 
his  pride  would  not  let  him  go  back  now.  If  Amanda 
comes  a  cropper,  he'll  be  properly  in  the  soup.  With 
his  temperament,  no  one  can  reckon  on  what  that  will 
mean." 

"Let's  hope  the  dear  public  will  laugh  so  much 
they  won't  miss  events  not  marching,"  said  Payne. 

"I  hate  you,  Dr.  Paj-ne,"  Margaret  shot  at  him. 

"Why,  because  I'm  a  bad  critic?"  he  asked. 

"No,  because  you're  so  horribly  like  an  incarnation 
of  common  sense.  You  disturb  me  to-day  like  a  north 
wind.     You  shrivel  me." 

"Then  I'll  blow  off  home,"  he  suggested. 

"You  will  not,  and  leave  Peter  and  me  limp  and 
discouraged.  You  will  just  sit  there  and  talk  about 
something  else,  till  we've  forgotten  your  indiscretion.  I 
could  howl,  you — you  person." 

Rehearsals  re-established  faith.  It  was  one  of  those 
plays  which  caused  unrestrained  laughter  in  the  very 
actors  themselves — a  circumstance  which  might  have 
given  Margaret  and  Peter  furiously  to  think,  had  they 
been  aware  of  the  tradition  that  regards  dubiously  such 
indications  of  success. 

Philip  was  at  his  absolute  best  these  days.  High- 
spirited,  joyous,  courageous,  the  thought  of  failure 
hardly  entered  his  mind.     He  infused  into  the  people 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        185 

with  whom  the  issue  lay  something  like  his  own  bright 
eagerness,  and  the  result  appeared  immediately  in  this 
— that  rehearsals  entirely  lacked  that  dulness  and 
stupidity,  which  drive  an  author  distracted,  and  filch 
from  his  lines  whatever  of  wit  and  verve  they  may 
have  originally  had.  There  was  no  need  for  the  usual 
assurance  that  "it  would  be  all  right  on  the  night." 

Field  watched  the  final  rehearsal  with  keen  interest. 

"It  goes,"  he  approved;  "it  well  moves  like 

a  railway  train,  all  lit  up,  and  clicking  forty  to  the 
minute."  The  box-office  showed  that  his  advertising 
was  bearing  good  fruit.  His  Press  Agent  had  worked 
overtime  to  impress  the  public  that  this  was  their  chance 
to  show  they  appreciated  their  own  goods.  Flaring 
posters  on  hoardings  blazoned  to  the  world  M.J. 'a 
gambling  spirit,  and  the  value  of  the  merchandise  he 
was  offering.  Margaret  could  never  pass  a  poster  with- 
out looking  at  the  magic  name  of  Philip  Lee  in  unac- 
customed small  type,  in  place  of  the  blatant  reds  and 
yellows  which  wreathed  it  in  former  announcements  of 
romantic  plays.  She  never  failed  to  thrill  at  the  deep 
significance  of  the  change. 

M.  J.  FIELD  PRESENTS 

^'AMANDA  MUSTN'T," 

By 

Philip  Lee. 

AN  AUSTRALIAN  PLAY  WITH  AN 
ALL-AUSTRALIAN  CAST 

Philip  had  secured  a  box  for  the  performance. 
They  crowded  into  it  besides  Margaret,  Peter  and  the 
excited  author,  the  Doctor,  Mrs.  Lee,  O'Dwyer,  now  a 
denizen  of  Number  One,  and  Aunt  Bessie. 

Margaret  looked  at  the  audience  with  an  eye  altogether 
proprietorial.  These  people  were  going  back  to  hun- 
dreds of  homes  to-night,  all  talking  of  Amanda  and, 
naturally,  of  her  creator.  In  their  hands  lay  his  future. 
She  looked  down  at  the  rustling,  whispering,  smiling 


186        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

stalls,  greeting  frienda  or  arguing  with  the  iishers.  A 
fat,  bald-headed  man  was  very  angry  over  a  mistake 
about  his  seats.  Perhaps  his  mood  might  determine  the 
enjoyment  of  his  neighbors.  They  were  already  hostile 
to  him,  as  people  are  in  a  theatre  when  they  have  to 
draw  in  their  knees  to  give  passage.  Margaret  felt  she 
hated  him.  He  might  spoil  the  play,  if  he  went  on  like 
that.  Then  her  excited  attention  wandered  to  the  hands 
of  the  people.  The  tiny,  gloved  hands  of  mincing 
women  irritated  her;  she  noted  with  a  thrill  of  approval 
the  fat,  jolly,  huge  hands  of  a  man  in  a  front  seat.  He 
had  been  dining  with  a  party.  They  all  looked  as  if 
they  would  enjoy  it.  Her  ears  longed  for  the  cacophony 
of  four  thousand  hands  smitten  together  with  rapture. 
It  was  the  finest  sound  in  the  world. 

She  turned  away  embarrassed,  when  she  found  that 
her  stare  had  been  so  concentrated  as  to  make  a  woman 
examine  her  gloves  with  critical  attention,  in  the  belief 
that  the  eat  in  the  box  was  eyeing  them  with  obvious 
distaste.  She  whispered  to  her  friend,  and  they  both 
glanced  up  at  Margaret  with  inimical  eyes. 

Then  Philip  brought  M.J.  into  the  box.  He  looked 
approval  at  Margaret. 

**I  want  all  you  folks  to  wander  down  to  the  Savoy 
after  all  this  rubbish  is  over,"  said  Field.  ""We'll  have 
a  bottle  or  two  and  drink  success  to  this  hound,"  and 
he  laid  an  affectionate  arm  on  Philip's  shoulder. 

Margaret  suddenly  liked  him  violently.  He  was  a 
dear.  She  would  have  liked  to  kiss  him.  She  accepted 
his  invitation  with  an  almost  affectionate  heartiness. 
And  wasn't  Phil  looking  handsome?  His  eyes  were 
shining;  his  whole  personality  radiated  charm.  No 
wonder  M.J.  liked  him.  It  was  quite  on  the  cards  that 
he  would  make  another  fortune  for  Field, 

Margaret's  thoughts  were  whirling.  The  theatre,  too, 
seemed  to  whirl.  Surely  there  were  more  lights  than 
she  had  ever  noticed  before.  Perhaps  Field  had  had 
extra  globes  put  on.  It  was  almost  a  gala  occasion. 
"Was  she  making  herself  observed  ?  She  must  be,  because 
Peter  leaned  across  and  whispered  to  her. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        187 

"Steady,  old  girl."  It  was  as  though  she  was  waking 
out  of  a  dream.  Mrs.  Lee,  she  found,  had  been  talking 
to  her,  evidently  for  some  little  time,  and  it  was  her  pro- 
found inattention  that  had  attracted  to  her  Peter's 
warning. 

"His  father  was  just  like  that,"  Mrs.  Lee  was 
saying,  and  it  was  obvious  that  it  was  only  the  end  of 
some  observations  she  ought  to  have  heard.  Like  what  ? 
An  unreasonable  curiosity  possessed  her.  It  was  almost 
more  than  she  could  bear  not  to  know  what  it  was  in 
Philip  that  had  resembled  something  in  his  father.  And 
yet  she  could  not  ask.  She  could  just  smile  idiotically, 
and  say,  "Really?"  How  utterly  absurd!  What  was 
the  matter  with  her?  It  was  only  a  play,  and  its  suc- 
cess or  failure  could  only  matter  slightly.  It  would  be 
all  the  same  in  fifty  years. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Dr.  Payne,  leaning  over  to 
her,  and  she  woke  to  the  disagreeable  fact  that  she  had 
made  the  remark  aloud. 

Then  the  orchestra  steadied  her.  Field  believed  in 
decent  music.  These  fellows  played  splendidly.  The 
violins  wailed ;  and  Margaret  felt,  in  one  moment,  inex- 
pressibly sad,  unutterably  tired.  Was  it  really  she  who 
lived  in  Contentment  Road?  It  was  some  serene  person 
she  had  known  in  times  past,  not  this  jangled,  nervous 
girl  who  only  noticed  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  waving 
hands.  It  was  as  though  playgoers  had  stayed  away 
and  only  sent  their  hands.  It  was  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
Chuff  in  the  Dress  Circle,  resplendently  upholstered  in 
violent  red,  which  brought  her  back  to  reality.  The  good 
lady  was  waving  a  huge  fan  in  an  effort  to  attract  her 
attention.  Then,  just  as  she  was  smiling  a  recog- 
nition, the  lights  went  out,  and  the  curtain  was  slowly 
raised. 

At  the  end  of  the  First  Act,  the  suspense  was  over. 
The  audience  was  laughing  still  at  the  recollection  of 
the  inimitable  Amanda.  Margaret's  tiredness  had  van- 
ished. A  flood  of  joyous  triumph  had  engulfed  every 
petty  pang  she  had  ever  felt. 

"Got  'em,"  said  M.J.,  popping  in  like  a  jack-in-a- 


188        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

box,  and  then  out  again;  and  ''got   'em"  Margaret's 
heart  echoed.     She  turned  to  Mrs.  Lee. 

* '  Isn  't  it  splendid  ? ' '  she  said. 

**I — I  suppose  so,"  replied  that  excellent  lady,  ''if  I 
only  knew  Avhat  it  is  all  about.  The  servant  is  very 
funny,  but  why  don't  they  dismiss  her?  Of  course  I 
know  they're  very  hard  to  get,  but  still — pertnoss  I 
never  would  endure.  I  had  a  servant  once — Philip 
would  remember  her — oh,  he's  gone;  but  never  mind. 
I  suppose  it's  all  right,  but  it  worries  me." 

Margaret  turned  to  Papie,  who  sat  behind  her. 

"Well,  old  croaker,  and  who's  right  now?"  she  openly 
triumphed  over  him. 

"You  are — now,"  he  admitted;  "but  don't  forget 
there  are  others  besides  Mrs.  Lee  who  would  like  to 
know  what  it's  all  about.  They  are  going  to  be  told 
presently  that  it's  all  about  nothing  at  all,  and  it  takes 
a  Shakespeare  to  write  a  thing  like  that." 

"  Oh ! "  Margaret  turned  her  back  on  him,  and  began 
to  add  Peter's  enthusiasm  to  her  own  flame.  Thus 
replenished,  it  blazed  higher  than  ever. 

Then  Philip  came  back  to  the  box,  and  took  with 
the  finest  deprecation  the  compliments  showered  upon 
him.     The  curtain  went  up  for  the  Second  Act._ 

Now  an  audience  will  not  grumble  if  nothing  begins 
to  happen  in  the  first  act.  They  are  content  with  amus- 
ing explosions,  in  the  belief  that  a  play  must  be  built 
up  gradually.  Laughter  is  precious  to  the  multitude, 
and  there  are  certain  entertainments  in  which  it  is  all- 
sufficing.  But  if  they  are  led  to  expect  a  play,  a  play 
they  want. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  Amanda  was  only  going 
to  show  them  more  of  her  funny  tricks.  She  was  not  a 
part  of  the  whole,  which  would  be  gradually  unfolded. 
She  was  the  whole  herself,  and  surrounded  herself  with 
a  clever  company  of  individuals  who  sparkled,  coruscated, 
glittered,  threw  showers  of  phosphorescent  verbiage 
upon  the  air,  somersaulted  with  words,  and  in  a 
phenomenally  clever  way  got  no  further  with  any  .story. 
Inevitably    the    attention    of    part    of    the    audience 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         189 

wandered.  Amanda  screamed  with  laughter,  but  the 
audience  did  not  join  in.  When  actors  stress  a  joke 
with  their  own  laughter,  it  frequently  dries  up  mirth 
on  the  other  side  of  the  footlights.  All  experienced 
actors  will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  man  who  appears  un- 
conscious that  he  has  said  anything  funny  who  draws 
tears  of  helpless  laughter  from  an  audience. 

Laughter  then,  once  withdrawn,  people  commence  to 
look  for  the  real  thing  that  makes  a  play — action, 
action,  and  plenty  of  it,  all  leading  up  to  a  crisis  the 
solution  of  which  is  the  thing  that  draws  from  the 
onlookers  the  sigh  that  is  the  real  success  of  a  play. 

Philip  had  overlooked  that.  He  was  clever,  but 
cleverness  needs  a  well  of  human  sympathy.  It  cannot 
function  alone  for  public  amusement. 

The  house  was  silent.  Margaret,  suddenly  cold  with 
horror,  with  the  knowledge  that  failure  was  glooming 
out  of  that  darkened  amphitheater,  that  those  closed, 
rigid  mouths,  which  a  few  minutes  before  had  been 
making  a  hideously  attractive  noise,  possessed  the 
same  power  that  turned-down  thumbs  held  of  old,  felt 
that  she  could  bear  no  longer  to  sit  there,  watching 
a  disaster.  Yet  to  move  would  have  been  equally 
impossible. 

Bitterly  she  detested  the  silent  crowd,  critical  and 
cold,  in  the  darkened  house.  Why  didn't  they  laugh? 
Why  didn't  they  applaud?  And  yet  she  could  do 
neither  herself.  With  a  shock  of  dismay  she  realized 
that  she  was  only  interested  in  the  result,  not  in  the 
play  itself.  Amanda  bored  her,  bored  her  cruelly.  It 
was  Amanda's  fault.  Why  didn't  she  do  something, 
the  idiotic  creature?  Paj-ne  was  right;  Field  was 
wrong.  It  didn't  "move."  She  glanced  at  Philip,  who 
had  pulled  a  chair  close  beside  her.  He  watched  the 
stage  with  a  stony  face.  Only  a  faint  light  showed  it 
to  her;  chiefly  she  was  conscious  of  a  gleaming  white 
expanse  of  shirt-front.  What  was  he  thinking?  Was 
he  sensing  the  coming  failure?  She  had  a  desire  to 
touch  his  hand,  but  she  had  not  the  courage.  Besides, 
it  would  seem  to  him  like  a  premature  judgment. 


190        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

When  the  lights  went  on  ahe  had  a  chance  to  observe 
him.  His  high  courage  never  faltered;  he  smiled  at 
her  with  just  the  same  gay  sureness.  "Whatever  he 
felt,  he  did  it  well.  His  was  a  fighting  spirit.  Peter 
looked  depressed,  but  smiled  at  her  manfully,  as  she 
caught  his  eye.    Pa^-ne  leaned  over. 

*' Pretty  good  dialogue  in  that  last  Act;  a  bit  over 
the  heads  of  some  of  these  duffers,  though." 

It  was  the  sort  of  speech  one  makes  to  comfort  where 
no  comfort  is.     Field  bustled  in. 

* 'Rotten  cold  audience.  Some  of  those  hounds  ought 
to  have  their  brains  taken  out  and  cleaned;  too  many 
cobwebs.  Big  laugh  in  this  last  Act  that'll  get  them. 
You  watch  them  wake  up." 

They  did  not  wake  up,  however.  They  had  been 
fleeced,  and  their  attitude  showed  it.  A  few  people 
laughed  at  the  wit  of  the  dialogue,  but  the  temper  of 
the  house  was  unmistakable,  and  in  a  theater  the 
majority  sets  the  mood. 

A  desultory  cry  for  the  author  was  set  up  when  the 
final  curtain  fell.  Philip  did  not  respond.  Field  came 
in  as  they  were  rising  for  departure  with  some  breezy 
prophecies  for  future  performances,  but  Margaret  felt 
numbed.  So  it  was  a  failure.  There  was  recognition  of 
the  fact  in  the  faces  of  her  friends,  Payne  looked 
symapthetically  at  Philip.  Had  there  been  a  trace  of 
the  "I  told  you  so"  manner  in  him,  she  felt  she  could 
never  have  forgiven  him.  Philip  was  explaining  some- 
thing to  Aunt  Bessie.  As  she  watched  his  gallant  smile, 
and  felt  that  so  he  would  smile  though  his  house  were 
toppling  in  ruins,  something — was  it  pride?  was  it  fear? 
— broke  in  on  her.  As  though  it  had  been  her  own 
mind,  she  was  vouchsafed  an  instantaneous  vision  of 
what  he  must  be  feeling.  Cast  from  the  heights  of  his 
apogee,  when  his  exaltation  was  further  from  earth  than 
ever  before  in  his  career;  shorn  of  the  hope  in  whose 
light  he  had  gone  so  bravely  forward,  after  that  impul- 
sive burning  of  boats,  she  saw,  in  one  flashing,  incandes- 
cent second  that  behind  that  smile  must  lurk  the  bitter 
realization  that  he  had  lost  everything. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        191 

Not  everything,  she  vowed  silently  to  herself.  These 
cold,  critical  cattle  would  not  triumph  over  him. 
There  was  something  he  wished  for  that  lay  in  her  gift. 
Swiftly  she  went  over  to  him.  Had  she  hesitated,  com- 
monsense  might  once  more  have  chilled  her  intention. 
He  turned  at  her  coming.  Her  cold  hand  sought  and 
found  his.  In  one  breathless  whisper  she  turned  his 
night  into  day. 

"I  will  marry  you  whenever  you  like,  Phil,"  she 
told  him.  Peter  saw  his  face  flame  with  sudden  delight. 
That  drama  had  ** moved,"  came  the  thought,  and  with 
it  a  stab  of  pain. 


Enx>  op  Book  Two. 


BOOK  III.— FLAME 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"Buy  my  English  posies! 

You  that  will  not  turn — 
Buy  my  hot-wood  clematis, 

Buy  a  frond  o'  fern 
Gathered   where    the   Erslcine   leaps 

Down  the  road  to  Lome — 
Buy  my  Christmas   creeper, 

And  I'll  say  where  you  were  horn! 

West  away  from  Melbourne  dust  holidays  begin — 
They  that  m^cTc  at  Paradise  woo  at  Cora  Lynn — 
Through  the  great  South  Otway  gums  sings  the  great  South  Main, 
TaTce  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  Iciss  your  love  again!" 

— The  Floweks 

THEY  were  married. 
For  a  week  Margaret  had  rejoiced  in  her  cour- 
age. It  is  a  tremendous  thing  to  discover  you 
have  a  giant's  strength,  which  enables  you  to  stretch 
out  a  hand  to  a  toppling  world  and  set  it  on  the  per- 
pendicular once  more. 

In  Philip's  delight  she  found  her  own.  His  ardor 
set  fire  to  her.  His  spirit,  never  long  overcast,  forgot 
Amanda  and  her  failure  before  the  scant  week  of  her 
course  had  run.  He  hardly  noted  the  fact  that  M.  J. 
Field  had  recognized  the  verdict  of  the  first  night 
audience  to  be  one  that  was  not  likely  to  be  reversed 
on  appeal.  The  title  of  the  ill-starred  play  had,  in 
effect,  been  firmly  repeated  hy  Field,  and  Amanda  had 
taken  her  too  well-made  humorisms  into  retirement. 
But  what  cared  Philip !     At  the  moment  he  never 

192 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        193 

thought  of  plays  and  play-writing.  His  mind  was 
soaring  radiantly  into  the  possibilities  that  life  with 
Margaret  would  bring  him.  He  had  achieved  his 
highest  hopes.  Henceforth,  it  would  be  but  a  decent 
of  the  mountain,  unless  he  could  keep  Margaret 
always  with  him  on  the  summit.  And  he  would.  He 
vowed  he  would.  For  them  both  the  heights.  Not  for 
such  a  rare  spirit  as  Margaret  the  flatness  of  the  plain. 
After  irritating  delay,  and  wrecking  disoppointment  he 
had  won  his  big  success,  and  life  was  all  too  short  for 
its  enjoyment.  Why  then  the  dust  and  gritty  sand  of 
the  arena? 

Payne,  on  his  part,  was  unpleasantly  reminded  by 
Philip's  gay  enthusiasm  of  that  old  childhood  inci- 
dent, when  with  the  getting  of  the  coveted  thing  the 
zest  departed.  He  thought  he  understood  Philip's 
character,  and  he  regarded  Margaret  as  something 
worthier  than  to  be  regarded  as  a  peak  in  a  man's  ambi- 
tion. Of  course  Philip  was  older  and  wiser  now,  and 
it  is  never  safe  to  argue  from  childhood's  analogies. 
But  Payne's  congratulations  were  tinged  with  reserve. 

Field  was  delighted.  His  romantic,  theatrical  soul 
was  stirred  by  this  plucking  of  success  out  of  failure. 
He  had  for  Philip  that  whole-hearted  admiration  which 
education  and  culture  often  draw  from  minds  broad 
enough  to  value  them,  and  unfortunate  enough  to  lack 
them. 

Characteristically,    he   made   the   marriage    possible. 

He  gave  a  Savoy  party,  and,  in  a  good-natured, 
humorous,  vulgar  speech,  in  which  the  kindliness 
warmed  Philip  and  Margaret  while  their  very  souls 
grated  at  the  gross  publicity,  he  announced  his  firm  belief 
in  Philip's  future.  As  an  earnest,  he  then  and  there 
purchased  a  half-share  in  his  next  play,  not  yet  planned, 
still  less  written,  paying  for  it  by  a  fat  cheek  made  out 
on  Philip's  back  as  a  desk,  while  the  people  at  fifty 
tables  shouted  pleased  encouragement.  He  did  not  cut 
the  Gordian  knot  of  the  writer's  difficulties  so  much  as 
stab  it  to  shreds  with  a  fountain  pen. 

The  brilliant   room  was  a   blaze   of  lights.     Pande- 


194         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

inonium  had  broken  loose.  Childish  instruments  for 
creating  din  were  blaring  discordantly,  the  performers, 
loyal  subjects  of  King  Frivolit}^,  wearing  his  insignia 
in  the  shape  of  bizarre  paper  caps  and  crowns.  Tables 
were  fantastically  linked  with  myriads  of  colored 
streamers,  through  which  waiters  strode,  like  black  and 
white  spiders  in  the  midst  of  many-colored  webs. 

It  was  such  a  scene  as  Field  loved  to  stage,  and  his 
happy  voice  was  incessant,  throwing  occasional  snatches 
of  conversation  to  perfect  strangers  at  adjoining  tables, 
addressing  grinning  waiters  in  cheerful  friendliness  as 
"hounds,"  ordering  wine  by  the  dozen.  The  picture, 
with  all  its  elements  of  color,  light,  and  humiliation,  was 
one  Philip  never  forgot.  Margaret,  in  a  glow  of  shame 
at  the  misdirected  kindliness  that  could  make  of  a 
private  emotion  a  theatrical  spectacle  for  a  couple  of 
hundred  grinning  strangers,  kept  her  troubled  eyes  on 
her  plate,  and  longed  for  an  end. 

It  was  then  she  began  to  wonder  if  she  could  give 
Philip  what  he  needed — something  more  than  the 
physical  emotion  of  love,  the  satisfaction  of  the  ten- 
dernesses each  would  mutually  feel.  Was  this  sort  of 
thing  to  be  the  setting  for  her  future  life?  Could 
the  existence  before  them,  if  Philip  succeeded  in  his 
ambitions,  be  other  than  a  feverish,  public  affair,  of 
which  this  was  a  type?  With  all  her  soul  Margaret 
longed  for  the  quiet  privacy  of  a  home,  out  of  which 
she  could  banish  noise,  and  the  fret  of  unconsidered 
mirth  and  loud  banter.     Could  she  expect  to  get  it? 

With  a  shiver  of  doubt  she  wondered  if  a  part  of 
her  must  be  reserved  from  Philip.  Did  she  love  him 
with  that  full  and  free  gift  of  herself  that  includes 
much  more  than  the  physical?  It  is  the  reserves  that 
can  make  marriage  a  hideous  failure,  and  Philip  was 
acute  enough  to  recognize  a  withdrawal  of  soul.  Had 
she  been  wise  to  allow  that  rush  of  sympathj^  to  obscure 
her  judgment  ?  Oh,  why  worry  herself  now  ?  She  had 
promised,  and  ever3'one  had  to  meet  and  overcome 
obstacles  as  they  came. 

Marriage   is    rather   like   golf.      Fairways,    bunkers, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         195 

stance,  and  the  "follow-through" — all  have  their 
analogues;  moreover,  it  ia  possible  for  an  apparently 
good  stroke  to  bring  about  defeat  by  providing  a  *'bad 
lie"  for  one's  partner.  Finally,  not  to  strain  the 
simile,  it  is  the  ''approach"  that  is  the  most  important 
thing  in  both. 

Peter  had  taken  the  blow  surprisingly  well.  "With 
all  the  strength  of  a  mind  that  inclined  naturally  to 
hero-worship,  he  loved  Margaret.  There  is  a  rare  type 
of  man,  not  in  the  smallest  degree  "heepish,"  which 
nevertheless  finds  a  peculiar  delight  in  the  beauty,  the 
intelligence,  the  success  of  individuals  with  whom  it 
is  privileged  to  foregather. 

Peter  M^as  pre-eminently  of  this  class.  It  is  to  be 
doubted  if  he  had  progressed  as  far  as  any  concrete 
thought  of  marriage  with  Margaret,  even  before  the 
conquering  Philip  had  made  himself  a  dominant  third 
in  the  harmony  of  their  relations. 

With  a  quiet  sincerity  which  tried  to  ignore  the 
twisting,  writhing,  little  pain-demon  that  dwelt  within 
him,  he  congratulated  his  two  friends.  No  melo- 
dramatic thought  that  for  him  life  was  henceforth  over, 
tortured  him.  The  river,  poison,  a  revolver,  all  those 
well-tried  expedients  of  the  disappointed  lover  in  fiction, 
were  not  for  Peter.  He  was  not  of  that  genre.  He  but 
worked  the  harder  and  slept  the  sounder — a  post  hoc  of 
most  logical  and  unsentimental  significance.  Mrs. 
Chuff  was  relieved  to  note  he  ate  well,  her  soul  being 
deeply  stirred  by  the  dramatic  possibilities  of  the 
situation. 

She  insisted  on  talking  it  over  with  Chuff,  w^hen  that 
sombre  personage,  very  like  one  of  the  importunates 
to  whom  he  showed  his  sternest  side,  was  endeavoring 
to  gain  admittance  at  the  portals  of  sleep. 

"The  pore  soul  will  never  be  able  to  face  that 
weddin',"  she  prophesied,  gloomily;  "it'll  be  like  a 
knife  in  'is  'eart.  I  don't  think  Marg'ret  so  much  as 
suspecks  'e  worships  the  ground  'er  feet  treads.  'E 
never  told  'er,  that's  positive." 

A  sudden  gust  of  memory  shook  her.     Incidentally 


196        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

it  banged  the  door  Mr.  Chuff  was  about  to  enter,  after 
a  peculiarly  hard  day. 

''  *  'E  never  told  'is  love, 

But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  or  a  hug, 
Feel  for  's  damaged  cheek. ' 
That's  Peter,"  she  concluded,  with  a  lugubrious  air. 

"Not  ser  much  o'  yer  worms  an'  bugs,  Ma," 
growled  Chuff.     "Go  ter  sleep." 

Mrs.  Chuff  was  wrong.  Peter  was  best  man,  and 
made  a  capital  speech.  But  it  must  be  recorded  that, 
as  the  train  pulled  out  of  the  station  on  its  way  to 
Lome,  he  felt  that  poignant  stab  again,  and  realized 
that  with  the  hurrying,  fussj'-,  important  train  was  de- 
parting something  he  had  counted  on  with  irrational 
certainty.  He  had  never  imagined  Margaret  out  of  his 
life.  It  came  upon  him  with  a  horrible  sense  of 
bereavement  that  henceforth  there  were  to  be  no  secret 
desires,  no  unexpressed  hopes,  no  delightful  day  dreams. 
It  was  only  a  game,  as  make-believe  as  childhood's  pre- 
tences, but  the  game  must  stop.  Not  the  engagement, 
not  even  the  wedding,  not  the  laughing  farwells  on  the 
platform  brought  the  cold  reality  home.  It  was  the 
ugly,  squat,  red-disked  van  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the 
departing  train  that  was  really  pushing  Margaret  away 
from  him. 

Lome  lies  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  which  it  has 
to  clutch  tight  to  prevent  itself  slipping  into  the 
Southern  Ocean.  It  possesses  an  extraordinary  charm 
for  newly-married  people,  and  as  it  is  human  nature 
to  wish  to  recapture  delight,  its  hotels  are  filled  with 
folk  who  include,  in  addition  to  the  superlative  of  bliss 
just  attained,  the  slightly  less  rapturious  comparative 
of  last  year,  and  the  more  decorous  and  reasoned  positive 
of  the  severely  normal, 

Philip  fiercely  resented  this.  The  indecency  of  the 
presence  of  others  in  his  Paradise  shocked  him,  and  he 
talked  of  going  on  further  to  the  solitude  of  Apollo 
Bay.  Margaret  laughed  at  him,  and  compromised  by 
taking  long  tramps  with  him  up  the  Erskine,  or  along 
the  cliffs  to  the  headlands  through  which  the  wooded 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT         197 

Cumberland  slips  through  golden  sands  to  the  sea. 
There  he  could  try  and  put  into  words  the  feelings 
that  flooded  him.  He  peremptorily  forbade  her  to 
talk  of  work. 

"I  have  worked  for  years,"  he  said,  ''and  there  are 
more  years  of  it  ahead.  This  is  going  to  be  play-time, 
if  I  never  play  again." 

''But  we've  been  here  a  month,"  she  reminded  him, 
"and  Field  will  want  to  see  his  play  begun,  at  least." 

"He  hasn't  bought  me,"  said  Philip.  "He'll  get 
his  play,  but  in  my  own  time.  Hang  it,  I'm  just  learn- 
ing you  by  heart,  and  you  talk  of  sending  me  to  hum- 
drum work." 

"Perhaps  it  is  foolish  to  learn  me  by  heart,"  she 
argued.  "You  can  (iiscard  the  text,  when  you  know  it 
thoroughly. ' ' 

"Not  this  text,"  he  told  her,  and  picked  her  up 
bodily,  with  a  strength  she  always  admired.  "There 
are  too  many  different  readings.  You  are  as  elusive  as 
a  will-o'-the-wisp.  Just  when  I  have  you  under  my 
hand  you  slip  away  from  me.  Do  you  really  love  me, 
Margaret  ? ' ' 

"Haven't  I  proved  it?"  she  asked. 

"Don't  you  know  that  sometimes  a  man  would 
sooner  be  told  in  words  than  have  it  proved  in  deeds? 
Tell  me  that  you  do.     It's  a  tune  I  could  never  tire  of." 

His  eyes,  tender  and  sincere,  held  hers.  And  it  was 
hers  that  dropped. 

"But  you  know  it,  darling,"  she  said.  Somehow  it 
was  hard  to  say  just  the  words  he  was  craving  to  hear. 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  he  admitted;  "but  sometimes  I 
feel  that  I  only  have  captured  part  of  j^ou.  There's 
something  in  you  that  won't  meet  me.  I  won't  be 
satisfied  with  a  dole,  Margaret.  I  want  to  hold  you 
sometimes  so  that  in  one  great  flood  of  love  your  whole 
personality  will  merge  itself  in  mine.  That  is 
marriage." 

"We're  learning  each  other,  Philip.  Don't  try  and 
get  into  Class  Two  before  I'm  ready  for  you.  Let's  go 
up  the  school  together. ' ' 


198        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

*'I  want  that,  too,"  he  said.  **But  don't  hide  from 
me.    Let's  meet  each  other  right  out  in  the  open." 

She  jumped  up  from  his  knees. 

*' Catch  me,"  she  challenged,  and  ran  down  the  yellow 
sand  to  the  surf.  He  was  after  her  like  a  flash,  and 
caught  her  up  just  where  the  big  waves  broke  in  a  rain- 
bow shower.  They  had  both  been  bathing.  The  water 
frothed  in  white  lace  around  them,  and  he  held  her 
triumphantly  up. 

"Margaretta — a  pearl,"  he  shouted,  and  bore  hier  up 
the  beach.  Her  lips  trembled  into  happy  smiles,  and 
soon  their  laughter,  young  and  joyous,  was  ringing  out, 
and  the  great  cliffs  were  repeating  it  with  pleasant 
echoes.  Youth  was  answering  youth,  and  reservations 
and  doubts  had  a  bad  time  of  it. 

There  was  little  more  talk  of  work.  He  made 
delightful  love  to  her.  When  she  remonstrated,  he 
retorted  that  he  was  planning  the  play. 

"Don't  interrupt  me,"  he  said.  "All  this  time  I'm 
thinking  out  a  plot." 

"Precious  little  thinking  out  you  do,"  she  retorted. 
**You  talk  to  me  all  the  time." 

"I'm  modelling  the  heroine  on  you,"  he  explained, 
**and  I  must  study  my  heroine,  surely." 

So  in  laughter  and  nonsense,  the  attempt  to  work  came 
to  an  end. 

The  position  was  quite  understandable.  Margaret 
was  an  intelligent,  many-sided  woman,  beautiful  in 
a  way  that  owed  nothing  to  mere  vapid  regularity  of 
feature.  She  was  not  all  on  the  surface,  and  to  Philip 
the  sudden  gift  of  such  a  rich,  complex  study  was 
unsettling  to  his  ordinary  work.  Continually  new 
aspects  appeared  of  this  delightful  girl  who  had  married 
him,  and  still  there  seemed  to  be  others  not  yet 
discovered.     No  wonder  she  absorbed  him. 

Margaret  insisted  at  last  on  a  return.  She  wired 
Aunt  Bessie  to  prepare  the  house  for  their  home-com- 
ing. Mrs.  Redford,  with  a  generous  feeling  that  Mrs. 
Lee  might  like  a  share  in  these  important  preparations, 
stopped  her  carriage  in  Domain  Road  and  waited  while 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        199 

the  dowager  made  the  necessary  toilet.     She  emerged, 
finally,  leading  the  diminutive  Gertrude. 

"On  the  box,"  commanded  Mrs.  Lee,  majestically, 
and  the  tiny  maid  put  heavy  boots  on  successive 
enamelled  spokes  of  the  front  wheel  until  she  arrived 
at  the  seat  beside  the  disgusted  coachman,  whose 
"Giddap"  subtly  conveyed  to  the  horses  the  outraged 
feelings  which  were  moving  their  driver. 

The  way  was  short,  mercifully.  The  house  lay 
among  smiling  gardens  in  a  quiet  backwater  of  South 
Yarra,  overlooking  the  exquisite  Botanical  Gardens  on 
one  side,  and,  away  beyond  them,  over  the  green,  swirl- 
ing tops  of  countless  trees,  the  city  lay  in  a  mystic, 
filmy  autumn  haze.  At  the  foot  of  the  street  ran  the 
river,  with  its  broad  flanking  driveway,  along  which  a 
fashionable  tide  of  motors  and  smart  dog  carts  flowed 
on  a  sunny  afternoon  up-stream,  ebbing  back  to  the 
city  at  sun-down. 

Gertrude  was  set  to  clean  and  polish  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  musical  flow  of  water  from  taps  mingled  with 
the  "slop-slop"  of  a  wet  mop  on  linoleums.  A  mourn- 
ful noise  that  accompained  the  sounds  of  work  gave 
token  that  Gertrude  was  happy.  Every  now  and  then 
the  only  words  she  really  knew  came  out  in  a  crescendo 
of  dreariness: 

"  *Fer  those  in  perrul  on-n-  ther  sea.'  '* 

Aunt  Bessie  worked  in  the  drawing-room  with  a 
wonderful  energy,  and  a  cheerful  flow  of  talk.  Mrs. 
Lee,  however,  fluttered  useless  hands  uncertainly  towards 
the  wrong  thing,  and  finally  subsided  in  a  chair,  the 
unequal  struggle  given  up. 

"I  do  hope  she's  a  good  housekeeper,"  she  said; 
"so  much  depends  on  that.  Philip  has  always  been 
accustomed  to  a  house  going  like  clockwork.  Not  that 
clockwork  is  altogether  reliable.  Once  we  were  in 
Switzerland  and  I  took  a  fancy  to  one  of  those  funny 
things  that  play  tunes  when  you  lift  them  up.  The  guide 
said  I  paid  too  much  at  the  time,  but  I  wouldn't  listen. 
I  was  a  headstrong  girl  always.     That  was  the  guide 


200        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

that  robbed  us  afterwards  at — was  it  Lucerne,  or 
Lausanne  ?     I  never  can  remember  which  is  which. ' ' 

In  an  agony  of  recollection  she  tortured  her  memory, 
but  it  refused  to  give  up  the  particulars  of  the  his- 
toric robbery.  Finally,  Aunt  Bessie  told  her  cheer- 
fully not  to  worry  about  it,  aa  it  did  not  matter  in  the 
least. 

The  curtains  were  up,  and  the  whole  place  swept 
and  garnished  before  the  carriage  called  back  again. 
Gertrude  was  singing  with  some  vague  idea  of  appro- 
priateness another  mournful  dirge,  in  which  she  declared 
that  "Nah  ther  labror's  task  is  hoar,"  when  at  last 
she  was  summoned  to  the  box-seat  for  the  homeward 
journey. 

Then  there  was  a  surprise.  For  a  taxi  disgorged 
Philip  and  Margaret,  who  had  followed  their  telegram 
on  an  impluse  of  sudden  nostalgia  for  the  city. 

Life  seemed  all  at  once  to  move  faster.  Gertrude, 
excited  and  pleased,  climbed  do^vn  again  from  her 
perch,  to  greet  Philip,  one  of  her  heroes,  for  whom 
she  cherished  a  hopeless  passion.  The  coachman  so  far 
forgot  his  frozen  dignity  as  to  permit  an  icy  smile 
to  break  the  bleak  surface  of  his  face.  Aunt  Bessie 
was  enveloped  by  a  whirlwind,  and  found  Margaret's 
arms  hugging  her  enthusiastically.  Mrs.  Lee  was  af- 
fected by  the  bracing  atmosphere,  and  her  sluggish 
mind  moved.  She  turned  almost  vivaciously  to  Mrs. 
Redfern,  after  she  had  kissed  her  son. 

"It  was  Geneva,"  she  reported,  **and  the  man's  name 
was  Pierre" — a  triumph  of  memory  that  flushed  her 
with  pleasure. 

Once  inside,  Margaret  did  enough  talking  for  a  dozen. 
"When  she  had  worked  along  ten  separate  threads  of 
conversation,  she  swept  to  the  telephone. 

"Is  Mr.  Wistor  in?"  she  asked,  when  she  was  con- 
nected. "Oh,  is  that  really  you,  Peter,  darling?  No.  2 
Contentment  Road  speaking.  We're  just  back  and 
want  to  see  you  dreffully.     You  must  hurry." 

With  sparkling,  excited  eyes,  she  surged  back. 

"You  two  dears  are  both  to  stay,"  she  commanded. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        SOI 

"I'm  going  to  send  Barnes  for  some  stores,  and  Ger- 
trude will  cook  for  us,  and  we'll  have  a  picnic." 

For  one  awful  minute,  Barnes  meditated  revolt,  but 
a  delicious — "Please,  Barnes,  it  will  be  so  sporting  of 
you,"  decided  him. 

"As  a  favor,  Miss,"  he  said,  solemnly,  cancelling 
all  her  marriage  vows  with  careless  disregard  of  her 
new  estate.  Then  he  nerved  himself  and  horses  to  the 
sacrifice  with  a  "Come  up,  then." 

PajTie  was  telephoned  for,  and  a  noisy,  happy  party 
sat  down  to  a  badl^'^-cooked  tea,  all  talking  together. 
Gertrude  bobbed  in  a  dozen  times  on  the  flimsiest 
excuses. 

Then  Margaret  had  to  show  them  the  extraordinary 
devices  for  work  in  Philip 's  study. 

"Built  for  the  production  of  masterpieces,"  com- 
mented Payne.  "And  how  goes  the  play?"  he  asked. 
"We  laughed  when  we  heard  you  were  going  to  work 
on  your  honeymoon." 

"He  didn't  do  a  stroke,"  accused  Margaret;  "but  he 
will  now.     You  promised,  didn't  you,  Phil?" 

"If  you'll  be  my  secretary,"  he  made  condition. 

"Make  your  hero  a  cave-man,  old  chap.  The  women 
love  that  sort — 3'ou  know,  let  him  bash  the  heroine 
about  and  whirl  her  round,  to  teach  her  to  love  him?" 
asked  Peter. 

"Burn  all  the  varnish  off  your  phrases,  Phil,"  advised 
Payne.    "You  have  the  real  stuff  underneath." 

"Oh,  good,  we're  all  here.  Let's  be  a  committee," 
and  Margaret  clapped  her  hands. 

"You  sententious  asses!"  said  Phil.  "Was  it  you 
Field  paid  for  the  play?  Go  to.  You  could  not  col- 
laborate to  produce  so  much  as  a  list  of  dramatis 
persanae.  My  future  programs  will  not  bear  the  legend 
— 'Written  by  Philip  Lee  from  dictation.'  This  com- 
mittee is  dissolved." 

"Can't  we  help?"  wailed  Margaret. 

**  Certainly,  by  allowing  me  to  do  things  my  own 
way.  Take  that  ass  Peter  out  before  I  shy  this  ink- 
well at  him;  and  I'm  going  to  stab  the  Doctor  with  this 


202        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

new  bill-file  unless  he  withdraws  his  remarks  about  my 
varnish.  You  mountains,  laboring  to  bring  forth 
mice!" 

Mrs.  Lee  followed  it  all  with  a  vague  smile.  But  on 
the  last  word  she  hung,  and  swung  herself  into  the  talk, 

"Mice,"  she  said.  "We  had  a  plague  of  the  wretched 
little  creatures  at  Deniliquin.  What  was  it  your  father 
used,  Philip?  Something  beginning  with  S.  You 
ought  to  have  a  bottle  of  it  in  the  house,  just  in  case. 
Or  was  it  a  bottle?    No,  you  burnt  it  in  their  holes." 

"We'll  order  some  in,  Mater,"  Philip  assured  her, 
solemnly,  and  he  turned  to  Payne. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  going  to  start  work  right 
away.  My  wife  and  I  are  just  teeming  with  ideas.  It 
seems  foolish  to  shut  yourself  up  to  write  about  others, 
when  the  world  is  holding  out  both  hands  to  you." 

"Depends  a  good  deal  on  whether  the  world  is  holding 
out  full  hands  or  empty,"  said  Payne. 

On  the  step,  he  lingered  with  Margaret.  Philip  had 
walked  to  the  tram  with  Peter,  and  the  carriage  had 
departed  a  full  hour  ago. 

"Make  him  work,"  he  said. 

"But  he  wants  to  play,"  she  said. 

"I  know — with  you.  Don't  let  him.  Drive  him  to 
his  work.  I  know  Philip.  Keep  him  guessing,  Mar- 
garet. Don't  give  him  everything  you've  got  at  once. 
He's  still  a  boy.  Keep  the  toys  in  a  cupboard,  and 
dole  them  out  by  degrees." 

"Does  he  get  as  tired  of  them  as  all  that?"  she 
smiled, 

"It's  human  nature  for  us  all  to  reach  out  eager 
hands  for  the  unattainable.  Make  just  a  scrap  of  you 
unattainable." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  that  he  will  only  get  back 
his  enthusiasm  for  his  work,  if  I  give  him  all  his  toys 
at  once,"  she  said.  "I  want  to,  oh.  Doctor,  I  want 
to,  for  he's  just  the  dearest  thing." 

"Follow  your  own  nature,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said, 
with  a  grip  of  the  hand;  "if  you  get  what  you  deserve, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        g03 

the  future  will  have  nothing  but  good.  But  get  him 
to  work.     He's — a  bit — a  bit ,"  he  hesitated. 

** Never  mind  the  missing  word,"  she  broke  in.  "I'll 
train  him  so  that  he'll  be  the  prize  husband.  That's 
better  than  being  the  celebrated  plaj^wright,  isn't  it?" 

"Infinitely,"  concurred  Payne.    "Good-night.'- 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"Though  terrors  o'ertaTce  us 
We'll  not  be  afraid. 
No  power  shall  unmalce  us 

Save  that  which  has  made. 
Nor  yet  beyond  reason 

Or  hope  shall  we  fall — 

All  things  have  their  season 

And  Mercy   crowns  all." 

— The  Astrologer's  Sono 

WOMAN  o'  the  name  o'  Lance  been  'ere  twicet 
to-day  for  you,  young  man,"  was  Mrs.  Chuff's 
greeting  to  Peter. 

He  knit  puzzled  eyebrows.  The  name  conveyed 
nothing  to  him. 

''Spring  Street,  she  lives,"  explained  Ma,  in  that 
elliptical  style  we  all  affect  in  ordinary  intercourse. 

"Oh — Lance!"  exclaimed  Peter,  as  if  it  were  an 
entirely  different  name,  when  uttered  with  conviction 
and  emphasis.     ''What  on  earth  did  she  want?" 

"She  said  for  you  to  go  round  to  her  place,  soon's 
you  come  in;  seemed  a  bit  excited.  P'raps  you'd  get 
a  piece  for  the  paper  out  of  it,  if  it  turns  out  a  tragedy 
or  something." 

Mrs.  Chuff  could  never  disabuse  her  mind  of  the 
idea  that  reporters  and  journalists  were  like  ^nIltures, 
making  a  living  by  hanging  round  waiting  for  murders 
and  burglaries  to  be  committed. 

Peter  had  "placed"  Mrs.  Lance  as  Mazie's  landlady. 
He  had  noticed  that  Field's  "girl-and-music  show"  wag 
playing  a  season,  and  in  a  vague  way  had  supposed 
that  one  of  these  days  he  must  go  and  look  up  Mazie 
Sefton.     He  decided  to  answer  Mrs.  Lance's  summons 

204 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        205 

and  go  round  at  once.  Probably  the  girl  had  left 
without  paying  her  board. 

The  landlady  opened  the  door. 

**Ho,  it's  you,"  she  began,  while  he  was  still  on 
the  step.     "That  young  lady  of  yours  is  pretty  bad." 

There  was  an  allegation  wrapped  up  in  the  words, 
which  Peter  did  not  trouble  to  deny. 

"Bad?  What's  wrong?"  he  asked,  in  real  concern. 
He  had  put  his  hat  on  the  marble-topped  table  in 
the  hall. 

"I  dunno,  and  I  can't  afford  a  doctor.  It's  law 
that  a  person  who  sends  for  a  doctor  'as  to  pay  'em,  if 
the  patient  don't.  Miss'  Sefton,  she  comes  back  from 
Sydney  at  the  beginnin'  of  the  week,  an'  takes  'er  ole 
room.  Quiet  an'  well-be 'a  ved  she  is,  I  will  say;  but 
if  I'd  ha'  known  she  was  sick'nin'  for  somethin',  I'd 
h'  seen  'er  further  before  I'd  ha'  let  'er  in.  Not 
that  I'm  a  'ard  woman,  but  I  got  my  livin'  to  make, 
same  as  others,  an'  I  can't  afford  to  'ave  people  gettin' 
sick  on  me,  p'raps  dyin'  on  me." 

"Surely  it's  not  as  bad  as  that,"  Peter  said. 

"Well,  she's  callin'  out  crool.  Go  up  yourself,  if 
you  ain't  afraid  of  eatchin'  it.  That's  jest  the  point. 
If  it  is,  I'll  'ave  all  me  other  roomers  leavin',  an'  dodgin' 
off  to  new  places.     It's  pretty  'ard." 

"You'll  have  to  get  a  doctor  at  once,"  commanded 
Peter,     "I'll  be  responsible  for  the  money." 

"An'  well  you  might  be,  seein'  she's  your  young 
lady,"  smartly  the  landlady  riposted.  "Come  to  that, 
'sfunny  you  lef  'er  a  week  without  callin'  romi'.  It 
was  on'y  yesterday  I  ses  to  the  girl  in  the  kitchen,  *me 
noble's  'ad  a  tiff  with  'er  ladyship,'  I  ses." 

Peter  pushed  past  the  too  voluble  woman  and  ran  up 
the  stairs.  The  way  was  familiar  to  him.  The  frowsy 
bedroom  no  longer  affected  him.  Chorus  girls  have 
only  the  streets  and  parks  to  receive  their  friends,  if 
they  are  debarred  from  the  use  of  their  bedrooms  as 
reception-rooms.  He  had  come  to  have  a  real  regard 
for  Mazie,  whose  frankness  and  amiability  had  won 
on  him. 


206        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

He  opened  the  door.  The  kewpie  had  long  given 
place  to  newer  gifts.  A  fancy  basket,  whose  handle 
displaj'ed  an  immense  bow  of  blue  ribbon  and  the  soiled 
card  of  the  donor,  had  pride  of  place.  The  only  chair 
held  an  untidy  mass  of  crumpled  crepe-de-chine  and 
lace.  A  silken  mob-cap  perched  drunkenly  on  one  of 
the  varnished  minarets,  a  pair  of  which  supported 
between  them  a  cheap,  swinging  mirror. 

So  much  Peter  noted,  as  he  closed  the  door  softly, 
and  approached  the  bed. 

The  bedclothes,  in  all  their  unfresh  repulsiveness, 
were  tumbled  and  twisted.  A  white  quilt  had  slipped 
to  the  floor,  and  upon  it  lay  a  hot-water  bottle,  with  a 
pillow  hard  by.  He  picked  up  the  last,  and,  as  he 
straightened  himself,  two  fever-bright  eyes  regarded  him 
in  the  gloom. 

Mazie  recognized  him,  and  smiled.  There  was  no 
amusement  in  the  smile. 

"That  you.  Grandpa?"  she  said,  weakly.  "Oh, 
Lord,  I  do  feel  rotten.  Plorrie  left.  Poor  kid,  she 'a 
got  to  think  of  herself." 

"She's  a  selfish  little  beast,"  Peter  said,  savagely, 
feeling  a  tenderness  for  this  desolate,  abandoned  girl, 
whom  it  was  nobody's  business  to  succor. 

"Oh,  she's  not  so  dusty,"  Mazie  defended,  but  there 
was  no  strength  left  in  her  to  make  any  vigorous  fight 
for  the  defaulting  Florrie.  Peter  had  begun  to  have 
some  knowledge  of  these  queer  stage  associations,  and 
recognized  that  they  carried  no  obligations  of  ordinary 
friendships. 

"I've  told  Mrs.  Lance  to  get  a  doctor  in,"  he  said, 
clumsily  straightening  the  bedclothes,  and  making  the 
pillow  as  uncomfortable  as  only  a  man  can. 

"I'm  a  bit  better  this  evening,"  Mazie  informed 
him.     "But    I    had    a   fierce    time   last   night,  yelling 

away  at  the  top   of  my  voice   and ,"   her  words 

began  to  trail  off,  and  she  closed  her  eyes. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  woman  to  look  after  you," 
Peter  said.     He  felt  his  own  inability  to  do  more  than 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        g07 

sympathize.  A  sudden  thought  came  to  him.  He 
got  up. 

"Don't  you  move,"  he  ordered.  "I'm  off  to  get  a 
doctor  myself.  And  I'll  get  something  that'll  be  a 
hundred  times  better  than  a  doctor." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  whispered  Mazie,  with  dry, 
cracked  lips,  "if  you'll  just  be  a  dear  and  pour  me  out 
some  water.     I'm  as  thirsty  as  a  camel." 

He  dashed  to  a  surgery,  spoke  to  a  nurse,  and  left, 
happy  in  his  ignorance  that  he  had  peremptorily  sum- 
moned to  the  bedside  of  a  poor  chorus  girl  a  specialist 
who  sat  in  a  surgery  for  three  scant  hours  a  day,  and 
received  fees  that  gave  him  an  income  greater  than  that 
of  a  Prime  Minister. 

A  telephone  booth  swallowed  him  up.  He  provi- 
dentially remembered  Margaret's  pride  in  her  newly- 
installed  telephone. 

"Hullo,"  he  said,  when  he  had  got  his  connection. 
"Is  Philip  Lee  at  home?" 

Margaret's  voice  replied. 

"Oh,  it's  Peter,"  she  recognized.  "I  don't  know 
where  you'll  find  Phil.  He  went  out  with  Mr.  Field 
in  a  gorgeous  motor-car.  But  whether  north,  south, 
east  or  west,  I  can't  say." 

"Doesn't  matter.  It's  really  you  I  want,"  said 
Peter.  "There's  a  good  Samaritan  job  waiting  for 
you,  if  you  can  leave  the  wonderful  house  for  an  hour. 
I  want  your  advice  on  a  case. ' ' 

"A  case?  What  sort  of  a  case?"  came  her  voice  in 
reply. 

"Girl — sick — nobody  to  look  after  her,"  Peter 
jingled.  "  Tell  you  all  about  it  later.  Hop  into  a  tram 
and  have  some  food  at  Ma  Chuff's.  If  Phil's  away, 
there's  no  sense  in  dining  alone.  I'll  take  you  home 
again." 

"All  right.  I'm  coming,  if  it's  only  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity,"  she  laughed. 

After  a  hasty  meal,  Peter  hurried  her  off  to  Spring 
Street.  Mrs.  Lance  opened  curious  eyes,  as  she  saw  a 
lady. 


208         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Doctor  been?"  asked  Peter. 

"Yes,  'e  'as,  an  'e's  ordered  all  sorts  o'  muck  I  can't 
cook  in  my  kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Lance.  "Wy  on  earth 
can't  people  go  off  to  'ospitals  w'en  they  feel  them- 
selves comin'  on  sick?  It  beats  me.  "We  pay  enough 
to  keep  'ospitals  goin',  I  must  say,  W'y  not  use  'em 
occasional?" 

"Did  he  say  what  was  wrong?"  inquired  Peter,  dis- 
regarding this  eloquence. 

**  'E  said  it  would  declare  itself  before  long,"  was 
the  reply,  "an'  in  the  meantime  she  mustn't  be  moved, 
an  she  ought  to  'ave  a  nurse.  Oo'll  pay  a  nurse,  an' 
00 '11  pay  me  for  'er  keep,  that's  what  I  want  to  know? 
I  ast  the  doctor,  but  'e  jest  pushes  by  with  'is  little 
black  bag,  an'  jumps  into  a  motor-car.  Motor-car! 
An'  well  'e  might,  not  bein'  ast  to  keep  nurses  an'  cook 
invalids'  messes  for  charity." 

Mrs.  Lance  had  been  solacing  herself  with  artificial 
comfort,  and  it  had  made  her  voluble  and  pessimistic. 
Peter  led  the  way  upstairs,  but  Margaret  turned  to  the 
landlady. 

"I'm  sure  it  is  hard  for  you  to  have  sickness  in 
a  boarding-house,  but  I'll  see  that  it  is  made  as  easy 
as  possible,  and  of  course  you  will  be  paid  for  your 
trouble." 

"Well,  that's  the  sort  o'  talk  I  like  to  'ear  so  long's 
it  ain't  jest  talk,'  said  Mrs,  Lance,  with  enthusiasm, 
tempered  with  caution.  She  looked  admiringly  after 
Margaret,  as  she  went  upstairs.  Then  she  returned  to 
the  kitchen,  appeased,  but  inclined  to  doubt.  Faith  in 
human  promise  is  not  strengthened  by  the  maintenance 
of  a  caravanserai, 

Mazie's  head  was  turning  from  side  to  side,  in  the 
damnable  iteration  of  fever.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and 
she  appeared  to  be  restlessly  sleeping.  Margaret  turned 
to  Peter. 

"You  can  do  nothing,  Peter.  I'm  going  to  stay,  if 
you'll  slip  out  to  Number  Two  and  tell  Phil  I  haven't 
eloped  with  the  baker.    I  left  no  message." 

"But  you  can't  sit  up  all  night,"  remonstrated  Peter, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        609 

This  was  more  than  he  had  designed.  The  complete 
assumption  of  command  staggered  him. 

"We  must  get  a  nurse  in,"  he  objected.  "Your  own 
health  won't  stand  this  sort  of  thing.    Phil  will  be " 

''Not  nearly  as  much  as  I  will  be  if  you  don't  go  and 
do  what  I  tell  you,"  she  said,  severely,  her  voice  pitched 
low  to  avoid  waking  the  sleeper. 

Peter  recognized  finality  when  he  heard  it.  He  went. 
Margaret  tidied  the  slovenly  room,  and  folded  the  flimsy 
garments.  Then  she  settled  herself  in  the  chair,  and 
prepared  for  eventualities,  previously  examining  the 
directions  on  the  medicine  bottles,  which  had  been  sent 
up  from  a  neighboring  chemist. 

So  this  was  one  of  Phil's  friends!  She  had  known 
him  long  before  Margaret  had  met  him.  She  had  been 
an  important  unit  in  his  daily  life.  It  gave  her  a 
standing  claim  on  Philip's  wife.  She  never  dreamed 
of  any  more  intimate  tie  than  stage  associations  would 
create. 

Slowly  the  night  dragged  on.  The  fever  mounted, 
and  Margaret  was  roused  from  a  fitful,  worried  slumber 
by  the  sound  of  a  high-pitched  voice.  She  conquered 
the  terrible  desire  to  sleep  through  the  interruption, 
and  forced  herself  to  rise. 

Mazie  was  talking,  but  a  glance  at  her  flushed  face 
was  sufficient  to  indicate  that  it  was  but  the  wandering 
talk  of  delirium.  The  sound  of  that  laughing  tone, 
followed  by  heart  breaking  complaints,  was  eerie  in 
the  deep  silence  of  the  sleeping  house. 

Margaret  whitened.  A  feeling  of  something  akin  to 
repulsion  seized  her,  but  she  overcame  the  disgust  that 
was  only  momentary,  and  bathed  the  girl's  face  with 
eau-de-cologne.  Her  babbling  went  on,  and  Margaret 
grew  heartsick,  and  longed  for  the  help  that  morning 
would  bring.  She  was  paying  for  her  offer  of  help,  pay- 
ing as  Peter  could  never  have  suspected.  For  out  of 
that  jumbled,  incoherent  stream  of  talk  came  scattered 
sentences,  which  at  first  possessed  no  meaning  or  sig- 
nificance, but  which  soon  made  all  too  clear  what  part 
this  girl  had  really  played  in  her  husband's  existence. 


210        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

In  that  silent  house,  through  dragging  hours,  Mar- 
garet tasted  the  full  bitterness  of  the  knowledge.  On 
her  reaction  to  it  depended  their  future  happiness. 
What  would  she  do  ?  What  could  she  say  ?  How  would 
it  affect  her  love  for  Philip?  Wearily  she  asked  her- 
self these  questions,  long  after  Mazie  had  lapsed 
into  a  hea\y  stupor,  which  brought  merciful  silence 
with  it. 

The  morning  came  without  any  solution  of  her  prob- 
lem. Mrs.  Lance,  w-ith  a  cup  of  tea,  disturbed  her 
thoughts.  She  also  brought  her  release  from  her  self- 
imposed  task. 

It  was  not  yet  six  o'clock,  though  it  had  been  light  for 
a  full  half -hour.  The  ''girl"  had  been  sent  out  for  a 
cab.  While  waiting,  Margaret  had  turned  her  eyes 
once  more  on  the  sleeping  Mazie. 

As  she  looked  at  her,  something  seemed  to  arouse  the 
fever-laden  brain.  Mazie  opened  her  bright  eyes,  and 
fixed  them  in  puzzled  wonder  on  Margaret's  face. 

"Hullo!"  she  said,  feebly,  but  with  a  flicker  of 
rational  interest.     "Where's  Grandpa?" 

Margaret  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  thinking,  natur- 
ally enough,  that  the  query  savored  of  further  delirium. 

"I  mean  Peter.  You  know  Peter  Wister?  P'raps  he 
sent  you?" 

For  one  flashing  instant,  Margaret  had  a  doubt  of 
Peter's  part  in  the  sordid  friendship.  It  speaks  volumes 
for  the  character  that  Peter  had  established  in  her  mind 
that  the  suspicion  was  laid  the  second  it  came  to  being. 
Peter  could  not  have  brought  her  to  this  girl  unless 
he  had  been  both  innocent  himself  and  ignorant  of 
Philip's  part. 

"He  did,"  she  answered  Mazie;  "but  you  were  too  ill 
when  we  came  last  night  to  notice." 

"Last  night — and  did  you — have  you  been  sitting  here 
with  me  all  night?"  Mazie  asked. 

"Of  course.  You  didn't  think  we  would  leave  you 
all  by  yourself,  surely?"  Margaret  replied,  cheerfully. 
It  was  an  effort  to  be  matter-of-fact,  but  with  the  effort 
came  the  reward.     Or  perhaps  it  was  the  effect  of  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        211 

streaming  sunlight,  which  made  the  past  night  seem 
somewhat  less  dreadful. 

''Well,  you're  a  brick,"  came  quick  appreciation  in 
a  weak  tone.  "Am  I  going  to  get  better,  or  does  the 
doctor  think  I'm  pretty  bad?"  she  asked,  in  slow  drag- 
ging speech,  obviously  tiring. 

"Of  course  j^ou're  going  to  get  better,"  said  Margaret, 
briskly.  The  pathetic  helplessness  of  the  girl  made  a 
quick  appeal  to  her.  In  one  magic  moment  bitterness 
was  washed  from  her  heart.  What  on  earth  could  it 
matter  that  a  bit  of  flotsam  and  a  piece  of  jetsam, 
drifting  along  on  a  stream,  after  being  submerged  for 
fateful  moments,  should,  by  a  natural  clotting,  come 
together  and  then  drift  once  more  apart? 

Philip  had  had  no  allegiance  to  consider.  His  chivalry 
had  probably  been  moved  by  the  girl's  distress.  Who, 
so  well  as  herself,  should  recognize  the  eager  spirit  of 
knight-errantry  he  had  always  shown?  Men  were  like 
that,  she  supposed.  After  all,  it  was  not  as  if  he  had 
sinned  against  her,  or  against  love.  Her  ideal  was  an 
impossibly  high  one. 

Her  mind  lifted.  Her  spirits  soared.  She  would  say 
nothing  of  her  discovery.  Philip  need  never  know  that 
accident  had  uncovered  the  episode.  Eesolution  flamed 
within  her,  and  melted  the  ice  that  had  gathered  during 
the  bitter  night.  On  an  impulse  she  bent  down  and  laid 
her  cheek  against  the  burning  face  on  the  pillow. 

"I'm  off,  but  I'm  coming  back,  and  bringing  a  nurse. 
Then  when  you  are  well,  you  must  come  to  me  and 
we'll  make  you  as  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  she  promised,  happily. 

"What's  your  name?  Grandpa  hasn't  a  wife  or  a 
sister,"  said  Mazie.  For  a  second  Margaret  hesitated. 
Then  she  made  up  her  mind. 

"I'm  Mrs.  Lee,  Philip  Lee's  wife.  Peter  and  he  are 
old  friends.  He  will  be  just  as  anxious  as  I  am  to  see 
you  get  stronger.  He — he" — she  was  treading  on  woe- 
fully thin  ice  now — "he  has  told  me  how  good  you 
were  to  him  when  he  was  struggling  along  in  that  London 
Comedy  Company.  I  have  a  chance  to  pay  you  back, 
and  I'm  going  to  take  it,  whether  you  like  it  or  not." 


S12        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Mazie  stared  at  her  a  moment.  She  was  endeavoring 
to  take  in  the  information. 

"So  you're  his  wife,"  she  said  at  last,  ''Of  course 
we  heard  he  was  married.    He — he  was  right,  then." 

''Right?"  repeated  Margaret,  puzzled. 

"Yes.  He  used  to  tell  me  about  a  woman  who  was 
waiting  for  him  somewhere — a  woman  like  you,  and  he 
always  said  he  wanted  to  be  decent  when — you — came 
along.  And  you  came — all  right.  Well,  good  luck  to 
him.  He  treated  me  white.  That's  something  for  you 
to  be  proud  of.  They  don't  make  'em  much  better  than 
Phil  Lee." 

It  was  all  she  could  do  for  him — she  had  only  her 
loyalty  to  give.  Little  fool  that  she  had  been,  little 
idiot  that  she  was  now,  wdth  her  easy  kisses,  and  her 
ready  venality,  she  had  known  what  many  women  go 
through  life  lacking — real,  unselfish  love  for  a  man. 

Two  tears  pushed  from  under  her  puffed  eyelids  and 
rolled  sluggishly  down  her  cheeks — tears  of  weakness 
perhaps,  tears  of  remembrance  surely.  Philip  was 
happy  in  that  there  was  only  kindly  recollection  behind 
them,  not  the  least  atom  of  bitterness. 

Margaret  felt  all  the  helplessness  of  pity  that  is  shorn 
of  effective  action. 

"You  looked  after  him  when  he  needed  it  most,"  she 
whispered.  "I  won't  forget  that.  He's  a  lucky  man 
whom  two  women  care  for." 

Mazie  put  out  her  hand,  and  touched  Margaret's. 

"I  never  did  him  any  harm,"  she  whispered.  "He 
was  alwaj's  waiting  for  you." 

"I  know,"  Margaret  assured  her.    And  believed  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"/  do  not  look  for  holy  saints  to  guide  me  on  my  way, 
Or   male   and  female   devilkin.s    to    lead   my   feet   astray. 
If  these  are  added,  I  rejoice — if  not,  I  shall  not  mind. 
So  long  as  I  have  leave  and  choice  to  meet  my  fellow-lcind. 
For  as  we  come  and  as  we  go  {and  deadly  soon  go  we!) 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me." 

— A  Pilgrim's  Wat 

MAZIE  had  come  and  gone,  once  more  well  enough 
to  take  the  road. 
The  play  was  Liaking  little  progress.  Philip 
was  only  working  by  fits  and  starts.  Margaret  and  only 
Margaret,  held  his  interest.  She  scolded  him,  and  he 
laughed.  He  delighted  in  showing  her  off,  and  carried 
her  everywhere.  Their  nights  were  always  engaged, 
either  in  Society,  or  with  their  own  intimate  circle  in 
the  wonderful  house. 

When  at  last  he  did  settle  down  to  half-hearted  work, 
he  was  disappointed  in  the  result.  In  a  moment  of 
sacrificial  clarity,  he  destroyed  the  whole  of  the  Act  he 
had  written. 

*'They  won't  do  what  I  want  them  to,"  he  complained 
to  Margaret,  *'I  hear  them  talking,  but  in  the  moment 
it  takes  to  transcribe  on  the  typewriter,  their  conversa- 
tion drops  dead,  as  though  they  were  conscious  of  an 
eavesdropper.    I'm  a  joke  as  a  dramatist." 

Margaret  went  to  him.  His  arms  were  around  her 
on  the  instant. 

"Let's  cut  the  whole  thing  to-day,  and  take  a  spin 
down  to  Black  Eock,"  he  said. 

''We  were  out  nearly  every  day  last  week,"  she 
reproved  him.  ''I've  simply  given  you  every  minute  of 
my  time.     It's  not  good  for  y«ur  work." 

It  was  true.    She  had  yielded  to  his  constant  urging, 

213 


214.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

and  gradually  he  had  absorbed  her  every  instant.  Her 
being  was  at  last,  by  his  very  importunity,  being  merged 
in  his,  just  as  he  had  wished. 

**What  goes  wrong  wath  the  play  people?"  she  asked. 

**They  burble,  instead  of  saying  the  flashing,  biting 
things  I  invent,"  he  said.  "Here,  read  that — two  sheets 
that  were  saved  from  the  wreck." 

She  took  the  sheets. 

"H'm!  I  don't  like  it,  darling;  but  I  don't  think 
the  fault's  in  what  they  say.  It's  what  they  are.  I 
can't  see  them.    Do  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

"Perfectly.  Same  old  story.  'Pon  my  word,  Mar- 
garet, I  think  you  and  PajTie  must  be  right.  I  know 
you  think  I  can't  draw  human  beings.  As  soon  as  I 
come  to  lick  their  conversation  into  shape,  and  give 
it  a  bit  of  sparkle,  they  die." 

* 'P'raps  it's  because  ordinary  people  don't  sparkle 
that  they  seem  unreal,  dear.  Why  not  use  everyday  talk, 
such  as  ordinary  folks  use?  We  don't  land  out  an 
epigram  every  time  we  speak." 

"No,  but  hang  it  all,  you  can't  be  commonplace  in  a 
play,"  he  objected.  "I'll  admit  that  a  dialogue  between 
common  folk  must  appear  to  be  as  dull  as  themselves, 
but  it  must  only  be  appearing.  The  moment  an  author 
really  gets  dull  it's  all  up." 

"But,  Phil — I — don't  you — can't  you  see  that  com- 
mon folk  are  not  dull?  I  mean — take  our  butcher. 
He's  in  love  with  Hetty.  She  looks  out  for  him  through 
the  kitchen  window  for  a  full  half-hour  before  he 
comes " 

"My  dear,  good  girl,  you're  not  going  to  suggest  to 
me  that  the  poetic  love  of  a  butcher  and  a  kitchen-maid 
will  make  good  material  for  a  play,"  he  broke  in. 

"It's  not  a  question  of  a  play,  but  of  dullness.  Hetty 
simply  glows,  when  she  hears  the  cart,  and  the 
butcher " 

"Looks  sheepish,"  he  interrupted.  "He  would. 
Idyllic.     Calls  her  his  little  lamb." 

"Oh,  well,  if  you're  not  going  to  be  serious,"  she 
said,  offended. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        215 

"Proceed,  darling,  I  pant  to  hear  more  of  the 
butcher's  heart."  He  got  up  and  put  his  arms  about 
her,  smiling  into  her  ej-es. 

"Well,  all  I  want  to  say  is  that  I'm  as  interested  in 
them  as  I  could  possibly  be  in  a  clever  man  talking 
epigrams  to  a  clever  woman.  There's  only  one  way  to 
make  love,  and  that's  as  old  as  the  hills.  Shaw  and 
Oscar  Wilde  may  do  it  more  cleverly  than  the  butcher, 
but  if  their  method  interests  their  heroines  any  more 
than  the  butcher's  does  Hetty,  I — I'll  be  hanged,"  she 
finished,  emphatically. 

**Then  I  make  this  concession,"  he  made  amends. 
** To-morrow  morning  as  ever  is,  I'll  observe  the  butcher 
and  the  maid,  and  will  tell  you  if  I  find  the  perform- 
ance dull.  What  time  does  the  curtain  go  up  on  this 
pastoral  ? ' ' 

''He  comes  at  ten,"  Margaret  informed  him;  ''but  I 
won't  have  you  spying.  Think  if  it  was  us — we;  no 
I  will  say  us,  it  sounds  much  better." 

"All  right.  When  you're  so  defiant  of  literature  as 
to  fly  in  the  face  of  English  grammar,  it's  time  for  me 
to  retreat." 

He  kissed  her  hurriedly. 

"Pop  off.  I've  got  an  idea."  And  she  forthwith 
popped. 

In  her  groping  way  Margaret  had  found  his  chief 
weakness  as  a  plaj^wright.  He  had  developed,  in  his 
actor's  life,  a  sound  knowledge  of  construction.  His 
own  untaught  genius  had  supplied  him  with  a  keen 
sense  of  dramatic  values.  But  he  lacked,  and  woefully 
lacked,  that  sympathy  with  people,  unless  they  were  the 
people  who  moved  in  his  own  set,  which  can  detect  an 
idyll  in  a  ragman's  romance,  a  poem  in  a  fish  shop. 
As  Pa^Tie  had  remarked,  he  had  to  burn  off  the  varnish 
from  his  work,  before  its  great  qualities  could  be  seen. 
There  is  very  little  commonplace  in  life,  to  the  seeing 
eye.  Drama  lurks  in  the  meanest  existence,  and  beauty 
may  co-exist  with  evil. 

Philip  was  to  learn  this,  just  when  disgust  at  repeated 
failure  was  wearing  on  him,  and  reacting  on  Margaret. 


216         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

He  had  taken  the  finished  play  into  Field,  six  months 
after  their  marriage.  The  comment  of  that  gentleman 
was  characteristically  terse. 

"No  guts!"  he  had  said.  It  was  even  so.  Situations 
in  plenty  there  were,  laughter  in  its  proper  place,  but 
subordinated  to  the  serious  theme,  good  dialogue  and 
snappy  curtains,  but  it  was  "well-made,"  and  nothing 
further. 

"Take  it  away,  and  get  some  pep  into  it,  old  man," 
said   Field.     "Better  still,   let   it  alone,   and  start   on 

another.     I  want  to  feel  as  I  read  the thing — My 

God,  I  know  that  man;  I've  met  that  woman,  or  some- 
one   like  her.     See  what  I  mean?     That  woman  of 

yours  in  the  play  is  Amanda's  sister  who's  married  into 

the  nobility.     Keep  at  it.     You've  got  it  in  you, 

and  once  you  strike  the  real  thing,  you'll  make  a  big 
hit." 

Philip  took  the  rejected  manuscript,  and  in  a  state  of 
utter  dejection  walked  into  the  street.  It  w^as  a  mood 
that  visited  him  rarely. 

Someone  slapped  him  violently  on  the  back.  He  came 
to  earth  with  a  jerk,  and  saw,  regarding  him  with  an 
amused  smile,  a  man  in  clerical  garments.  For  a  second 
he  failed  to  recognize  him,  and  then  he  knew. 

"Old  John  Weir!"  he  cried,  his  dejection  gone  at 
once.  He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  putting  worries  on 
one  side,  until  they  called  for  solution. 

John  Weir,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  he  had  left 
Queen's  nearly  four  years  before,  shook  his  hands  with 
an  energy  that  attracted  amused  attention  from  passers- 
by.  Weir  apparently  was  the  same  energetic  creature 
who  used  to  discover  texts  in  the  Bible  that  knocked 
the  bottom  out  of  Methodism,  and  Philip  smiled  at  his 
enthusiasm, 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  wicked  city?"  he 
inquired.  "Aren't  you  living  an  innocent  pastoral  life 
in  the  bush,  saving  infrequent  souls,  when  they  can  spare 
you  the  time  from  their  cows?" 

"Me?  In  the  country!  I've  got  the  toughest  set  of 
souls  to  shepherd  in  Australia.     They're  always  break- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        217 

ing  down  the  fences  and  scattering  abroad.  Generally, 
though,  I  know  where  to  round  them  up,  when  muster- 
ing time  comes — the  Melbourne  Jail." 

' '  Why,  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing  ? ' '  demanded 
Philip. 

"Got  an  hour  to  spare?"  Weir  asked,  by  way  of 
reply. 

"Two.  I'm  a  poor  devil  of  a  writer  with  nothing  to 
write,"  was  the  response. 

"Come  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you  what  I'm  doing 
and  give  you  something  to  write  about,"  Weir  promised. 

"I'm  on.  Where  does  the  pilgrimage  lead?"  asked 
Philip. 

"God  knows,"  replied  the  parson,  soberly.  **To 
Little  Bourke  Street  in  the  first  instance." 

Around  this  unsavory  district  various  religious  organ- 
izations operate.  Weir  represented  the  Methodist 
Church  Mission,  which  does  notable  social  work  here. 

He  and  Philip  climbed  to  the  former's  room,  which 
was  situated  at  the  top  of  a  building,  on  the  ground  ^ 

floor  of  which  a  Chinese  merchant  carried  on  the  sale  .^ 
of  bananas  by  day  and  joined  to  that  innocent  trade  ^' 
a  more  lucrative  one  in  opium,  by  night.  C^ 

Philip   looked    round  him   with   interest.      Then   he      *.^,;)i 
turned  to  Weir.  \, 

"Any  doubts  come  to  trouble  you  here?"  he  asked. 

"Doubts?  I  never  worry  my  head  about  Higher  j 
Criticism  now.  I've  got  my  job,  and  hair-splitting  isn't  ^ 
part  of  it."  ,4^ 

He  spoke  with  the  same  old  forthright   abruptness       .[, 
as  in  his  College  days,   every  now  and  then  using  a 
crude,  but  gripping,  phrase  that  struck  almost  like  a      "^ 
physical  blow. 

"Well,  you  look  as  if  saving  souls  agreed  with  you;     ]^ 
trained  to  the  hair  you  used  to  split,  I  should  say."  -v!;;;^ 

"I'm  not  saving  souls;  don't  run  away  with  that  idea.        . 
I'm  saving  bodies.    I  don't  bother  about  the  soul.    God 
is  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  that   part   of  the 
business. ' ' 


218        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"But  I  thought  bodies  were  as  nothing  in  comparison. 
You're  upsettmg  all  my  ideas." 

Weir  frowned. 

"We  all  make  a  God  in  our  own  image.  It's  a  neces- 
sity, I  suppose.  That's  why  you  find  parsons  of  some 
of  the  straiter  sects  teaching  their  people  to  worship  a 
God,  who  is  strung  round  with  the  little,  dry,  shrivelled 
souls  these  fellows  have  saved  for  Him — much  the  same 
idea  of  scalp  trophies  on  a  wampum  belt.  All  the 
pleasure  of  life  must  be  banished;  all  the  sap  must  be 
squeezed  out  of  the  soul  before  it  can  be  presented.  I'd 
as  soon  worship  a  sacrificial  joss  as  that  God." 

His  very  vehemence  was  impressive.  Philip  was 
inclined  to  draw  him. 

"The  God  of  the  Koman  Catholics  must  be  liberal 
enough  to  suit  you,  Jack," 

"Oh,  I've  no  quarrel  with  them.  But  they've  made 
their  God  in  their  own  image,  just  like  the  rest  of  us. 
He  takes  his  orders  from  the  Pope,  when  it's  all  boiled 
down.  That  follows  from  their  belief  that  the  Scriptures 
are  progressive  Truths,  which  the  Pope  and  the  Cardin- 
als may  add  to  as  it  pleases  them.  God  only  wrote  the 
back  numbers." 

"It's  easy  to  interpret  you  Diety  then.  Down-right, 
plain-speaking,  decisive,  down  on  evil  like  a  thousand 
of  bricks,"  commented  Philip. 

"That's  where  you're  wrong,  Lee.  I  don't  admit 
such  a  thing  as  unqualified  evil.  Do  you  remember  little 
Le  Mestre  laying  down  the  same  law?  I  thought  he 
was  a  metaphysical  ass.    But  it's  true,  true  as  gospel. 

"I've  found  out  a  lot  of  things  here,"  he  went  on, 
in  response  to  Philip's  interested  nod.  "I've  known  a 
burglar  who  hated  shams  and  hypocrisj^  and  lies  in  all 
the  ordinary  relations  of  life  most  sincerely;  he  had 
virtues  that  would  have  graced  a  Lord  Mayor,  and  the 
kindly  heart  of  an  Archbishop.  His  one  visible  blemish 
was  a  passion  for  breaking  and  entering. 

"A  murderer  may  quite  possibly  have  the  virtues 
of  fidelity  and  generosity  and  a  host  of  others,  a  furious, 
ungovernable  temper  being  his  one  grave  fault.    I  have 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        219 

a  bad  temper ;  I  can  only  pray  that  God  sends  no  over- 
whelming temptation  while  my  brain  is  clouded  by 
passion." 

The  doctrine  he  preached  with  such  emphasis  was  trite 
enough.  It  has  presented  itself  to  most  intelligent  peo- 
ple.    Only  the  most  rigid  refuse  to  recognize  its  truth. 

But  it  struck  Philip  with  peculair  force.  To  him 
black  was  black,  and  white,  white.  The  twilit  gray  did 
not  exist.  In  his  writing,  a  villain  was  a  villain  in 
Act  One  and  remained  one  to  the  fall  of  the  last  curtain. 
Sharp  lines  of  demarcation  separated  his  good  from 
his  bad,  and  it  was  merely  a  reflex  of  a  certain  rigidity 
in  his  own  nature,  which  his  amiability  generally  kept 
hidden. 

That  Weir  should  throw  up  a  more  or  less  comfortable 
billet  in  a  suburban  church  and  accept  the  hardships 
and  ugliness  of  a  slum  impressed  him  tremendously.  He 
was  anxious  to  get  at  the  psychology  of  such  an  act. 
He  considered  he  had  found  it  in  a  fanatic  regard  for 
salvation  of  human  souls.  But  this  Weir  had  repudi- 
ated. Now  he  was  forced  to  shift  his  ground.  It  was 
a  passion  for  humanity,  very  much  in  the  rough,  that 
was  dominating  the  parson.  What  interest  had  this 
dirty,  evil,  ill-looking  ruffianism  for  a  cultured  man 
like  Weir,  that  it  did  not  possess  for  himself? 

He  asked  Weir  to  explain. 

*'It's  hard.  Our  minds  don't  march,  and  I've  got 
to  find  language  j^ou'll  understand.  But  it's  like  this. 
My  God  is  an  orderly,  logical,  reasonable  Being.  He 
must  have  a  purpose,  in  sending  us  spinning  through 
space,  all  handicapped,  but  some  handicapped  out  of 
the  race,  if  their  only  chance  were  in  this  seventy  year 
stretch. 

"Well,  there's  a  working  hypothesis.  Now  I  don't 
think  there's  any  satisfying  God  short  of  something 
very  like  perfection,  and  only  God  knows  when  that  will 
come.  But  there  are  a  good  many  pretty  far  on  in  their 
class.  These  re-incarnationists  have  a  good  deal  of 
reason  for  their  hope.  It  may  well  be  that  handicaps, 
apparently  unjust,  have  been  imposed  for  good  purpose 


220        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

in  a  previous  incarnation.  I  don't  want  to  dogmatize. 
But  put  it  that  human  souls  may  be  thousands  of  years 
old  in  some  cases,  and  one  year  old  in  others.  I  don't 
fret  about  the  old  souls.  They're  well  on  their  way. 
My  concern  is  with  the  newer  ones,  so  far  as  I  bother 
about  them  at  all,  which  I  don't  really.  But  in  these 
poor  devils,  floundering  in  ignorance  and  wretchedness 
in  this  slum,  and  elsewhere  in  their  millions  all  over  the 
world,  constrained  by  their  very  natures  to  make  hide- 
ous mistakes,  I  see  the  raw  material  of  angels.  That's 
why  I  get  up  each  morning  tingling  with  an  excitement 
that  is  more  pleasure  than  pain.  I'm  watching  human 
stuff  in  the  rough.  I'm  helping  it  to  better  physical 
standing  ground.  Someone  else  will  take  on  the  work 
when  I  go,  and  at  least  something  will  happen,  some- 
thing logical,  something  reasonable." 

**When  they  die,  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Philip. 

"Lord,  no!  Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  those 
poor  wretches  after  a  maudlin  deathbed  repentance, 
born  of  terror  of  extinction  and  desire  to  please  a  par- 
son, as  an  oiScer  of  the  God  they're  told  they  are  soon 
to  meet,  are  by  that  emotional  experience  fitted  for 
eternity.  Not  as  I  see  it.  They've  left  Class  One,  that's 
all." 

"But  if  you're  right,  other  parsons  are  wrong," 
objected  Philip. 

''That's  quite  likely,"  said  Weir,  calmly.  *'0f 
course,  they  don't  always  say  what  they  really  think. 
Many  of  them  are  not  the  anfemic  creatures  they  pre- 
tend to  be.  I  wouldn't  talk  to  a  congregation  of  milk- 
and-water-fed  people  as  I  have  to  you.  Now  I've  jawed 
long  enough.  Come  out  and  I'll  show  you  raw 
humanity." 

Philip  spent  two  hours  with  "Weir,  and  visited  houses, 
whose  filthy,  foul,  obscene  atmosphere  and  sounds  almost 
turned  his  fastidious  stomach.  He  mentioned  the  effect 
it  had  on  him.     "Weir  laughed. 

"You'll  make  a  poor  writer,  if  Life  disgusts  you  to 
that  extent,"  he  said.  "You'll  have  to  cultivate  a  nose 
that's  smell-proof,  my  friend.     It's  marvelous  what  a 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^21 

little  understanding  sympathy  does  to  the  olfactory 
system.  In  a  while  you'll  only  see  the  drama  of  the 
lives  of  these  people  and  the  interest  of  that  will  leave 
you  no  time  for  disgust." 

Philip  saw  many  contradictory  things  in  the  course 
of  his  first  ramble  through  slum-land.  A  slatternly 
Irish  woman,  nursing  a  wailing  baby,  remained  for  him 
the  most  vivid  memory.  He  denounced  her  heartless- 
ness  to  Weir,  who  smiled. 

"That  kid  she  was  nursing  belongs  to  another  woman, 
whom  she  hates  like  poison.  The  real  mother  cleared 
out.  Mrs.  Nolan  was  the  first  of  five  women  in  the 
house  to  offer  to  take  the  child.  She'll  bring  her  up — 
badly,  criminally,  perhaps,  but  that  doesn't  affect  the 
splendid  nature  of  the  impulse  that  stirred  her  to  adopt 
it." 

"It's  too  much  of  a  tangle  for  me,"  said  Philip. 

"Luckily  you  and  I  are  not  called  on  to  unravel  it," 
"Weir  said. 

"It  would  help  if  that  awful  warren  of  houses  were 
burned  to  the  ground,  with  all  the  filth  and  misery 
inside  it,"  Philip  said,  fiercely. 

"If  it  would,  I  would  cheerfully  do  a  fifteen-year 
stretch  for  arson  to-morrow,  and  would  add  murder 
to  the  crime,  if  I  could  collect  the  landlords  and  shove 
them  inside  it;  but  there's  no  remedy  in  that.  That 
class  of  tenant  would  render  a  brand  new  tenement 
building  with  hot  and  cold  water  in  every  room  and 
baths  on  each  floor  uninhabitable  for  decent  folk  in  two 
weeks,"  replied  Weir,  energetically.  "Slums  are  not 
a  matter  of  housing.  Misery  clots  together,  and  breeds 
filth  and  crime.  It's  simply  up  to  God.  By-by,  old 
son.  Look  in  again,  whenever  you  want  a  dose  of 
realities." 

A  quick  smile,  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  Weir 
was  off  with  brisk  steps  to  that  awful  little  room  in 
the  roof. 

Philip  shuddered  involuntarily. 

As  he  passed  over  Prince's  Bridge,  with  an  impulsive 
jerk  he  tossed  his  play  into  the  water.     He  had  made 


222         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

a  decision  to  work  henceforth  only  with  human  materials 
for  drama.  Weir  had  discarded  Higher  Criticism  and 
doubting  refinements  of  meanings,  and  had  come  down 
simply  to  humanity.  He  was  right.  For  Philip,  word 
splitting,  phrase  polishing,  epigram  making  had  been 
what  differing  interpretations  were  to  Weir.  In  like 
manner  he  must  throw  them  off,  and  get  down  to  bed- 
rock. Human  conduct  was  relative.  What  a  field  to 
work  in! 

He  turned  down  the  Alexandra  Avenue,  and  walked 
with  happy,  springy  steps,  back  to  the  tiny  home,  and 
Margaret. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"Yes,  sometimes  in  a  amaTcing-room,  through  clouds  of  'Ers* 
and  '  Urns, ' 
Obliquely  and  hy  inference  illumination  comes, 
On    some    step    that    tliey    have    taken,    or   some    action    they 

approve — 
Embellished  with  the  argot  of  the  Upper  Fourth  Remove." 

— The  Puzzler 

PHILIP  was  swept  away  by  one  of  his  periodic 
enthusiasms.  He  denied  himself  every  kind  of 
relaxation.  Margaret  herself  took  on  a  tenuity 
for   him,   becoming   a   shadow   among   other  shades. 

He  was  diving  deep  into  basic  passions;  he  was  drag- 
ging the  essential  good  out  of  evil  nature.  He  was 
finding  out  for  himself  that  ''there  is  a  soul  of  good 
in  things  erroneous,"  and  with  the  unresting  fervor 
of  a  creator,  out  of  twisted  motives  and  tangled  desire, 
he  was  fashioning  a  play.  It  had  but  one  aim — to  show 
living  men  and  women  reacting  to  events,  which  with 
no  sort  of  warning  came  crashing  into  their  lives. 

Margaret  observed  him  with  half-frightened  interest. 
The  rejection  of  the  last  play,  which  she  had  partly 
anticipated,  with  dread  for  its  effect  on  him,  seemed  not 
to  have  touched  him  at  all.  Like  the  previous  disaster 
of  Amanda,  it  had  been  over-shadowed  by  a  newer  and 
more  compelling  passion. 

The  nightly  readings,  with  which  he  was  wont  to  try 
the  effect  of  the  day's  work  on  his  wife  and  Peter,  were 
discontinued.  He  became  secretive,  jealously  locking 
up  the  manuscript,  when  he  reluctantly  left  his  room. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  he  took  a  dislike  for 
the  ordinary  social  pleasures.  Peter  was  always  bo 
handy,  another  self.  What  could  be  simpler  than  to 
ask  the  dear  old  chap  to  see  that  Margaret  had  a  good 

223 


^M        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

time?  Peter  always  had  seats  waiting  at  the  theatre, 
for  instance.  Someone  had  to  use  the  spare  stall,  and 
Margaret  liked  to  see  everything  that  was  going. 
Wouldn't  Peter  be  an  obliging  old  ass  and  cart  her 
along  ? 

The  Lees,  in  the  six  months  of  their  married  life, 
had  surrounded  themselves  with  a  musical  and  artistic 
set,  in  which  the  most  talented  men  and  women  of  the 
city  moved.  A  sprinkling  of  academic  folk  from  the 
University  circle  supplemented  these,  and  every  now 
and  then  there  would  be  a  gorgeous  occasion  when  some 
world  famous  lion  would  roar  amiably  in  their  com- 
pany. Sooner  or  later  every  distinguished  artist  or 
musician  finds  his  way  to  the  Antipodes,  and  Margaret's 
Sunday  suppers,  at  which  guests  did  their  own  waiting, 
and  all  helped  in  washing-up  afterwards,  attained  quite 
a  celebrity,  which  attracted  other  celebrities, 

John  Fabio,  who  became  recognized  as  one  of  the 
first  flautists  in  the  world;  Albert  Adler,  whose  magic 
violin  made  him  no  more  friends  than  his  winning  per- 
sonality and  rich  humor,  clever  and  subtle;  Esther  Wat- 
son, whose  airy  sketches  of  faries  held  a  haunting  wistful 
beauty,  which  London  was  quick  to  recognize  and 
acquire;  Long,  the  caricaturist,  now  on  a  famous  London 
paper;  Una  Burns,  with  her  pale,  distinguished  beauty 
and  exquisite  hands  that  touched  a  piano  into  poetry,  a 
Saint  Cecilia  come  to  life :  these  were  only  a  few  of  the 
close  friends  who  made  memorable  evenings,  while 
neighbors  would  steal  closer  to  listen. 

Side  by  side  with  this  set  of  splendid  bohemians,  more 
ordinary,  more  exigent,  was  Society  itself.  The  fringes 
of  each  touched  and  there  was  a  coming  and  going  at 
the  outer  edges;  but  the  centers  were  solid,  without 
movement.  Aunt  Bessie  insisted  that  thoy  should  not 
"lose  touch"  with  "their  own  class."  They  laughed 
at  her  queer  sense  of  values,  but  they  obeyed  her. 

"Don't  forget  that  Government  House  Ball  to-morrow 
night,  Phil,"  Margaret  reminded  him,  just  as  he  was 
entering  his  study. 

He  turned,  a  slight  cloud  on  his  face. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^25 

"My  dear  girl,  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  waste  time 
on  that  affair?    Not  much." 

"But  I  wanted  to  go  particularly,  dear." 

"Oh,  Lord!  Haven't  you  grown  out  of  that?"  It 
was  rarely  that  he  permitted  himself  a  touch  of  irrita- 
tion with  Margaret.  She  was  particularly  unreal  to  him 
this  morning,  which  had  brought  an  idea  requiring  care- 
ful working  out.  It  was  as  though  a  shadow  from  a 
blind  insufficiently  raised  was  interfering  with  his  light. 
The  desire  to  twitch  it  up  impatiently  was  overmastering. 

She  turned  away.  She  was  beginning  to  realize  that 
her  husband  had  no  room  for  two  enthusiasms.  He 
was  beside  her,  with  quick  contrition. 

"I'm  a  brute,  beast,  darling.  Pals  again?"  He 
kissed  her,  and  her  anger  vanished.    She  smiled  happily. 

"I  don't  want  to  worry  you,  old  thing,"  she  said; 
"but  you're  too  much  engrossed  in  work,  and  it  will 
do  you  good  to  get  out." 

"Oh,  I  can't  go,  but  you  will.  I'll  fix  it  with  Peter." 
He  was  airily  satisfied  that  he  had  made  the  amende 
honorable. 

"Peter's  not  asked,"  she  said,  her  tone  growing  stiff. 

"But  can't  Aunt  Bessie  ring  up  the  Private  Secre- 
tary? He  eats  out  of  her  hand,"  suggested  Philip, 
his  mind  harking  forward  to  his  idea  and  anxious  to 
get  away. 

"I'm  not  going  to  cadge  for  an  invitation  to  Govern- 
ment House  for  my  friends,  Philip.  If  you  won't  go, 
I  can't.  Poor  Peter  can't  take  your  place  everywhere." 
She  was  bitterly  hurt. 

He  fidgeted  a  moment,  turning  the  handle  of  his  study 
door  backwards  and  forwards,  until  the  grating  noise 
became  almost  unbearable. 

"What's  so  important  about  this  ball?"  he  asked, 
impatiently.  "It  isn't  like  you  to  be  so  keen  on  it. 
You're  not  a  climbing  tradesman's  wife." 

"I  want  a  change  of  showing  the  world  I  am  a  wife," 
she  flamed,  stung  into  pettishness.  "For  a  month  I  have 
been  appearing  without  a  husband." 

"Work  must  come  first,"  he  retorted,  with  an  answer- 


226        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEjVIENT 

ing  flash.  She  walked  away.  It  was  something  new  to 
indulge  in  acrimonious  argument  with  Philip,  new  and 
unpleasant. 

An  hour  afterwards,  two  hands  were  slipped  over  her 
eyes,  as  she  sat  at  some  work  of  cutting-out. 

**I  can't  work  when  I've  been  behaving  disgrace- 
fully," Philip  cried,  smiling  at  her  with  affectionate 
eyes.  "Let's  scamper  through  the  Gardens,  and  get  up 
a  color.  We've  got  to  be  beautiful  for  to-morrow  night. 
'Who's  that  tall,  distinguished-looking  man  with  the 
lovely  Mrs.  Lee?'  *0h,  don't  you  know?  That's  her 
husband.  They  say  he  deserted  her,  but  thought  better 
of  it  and  came  back.'  " 

His  mincing  tones  brought  ready  laughter  to  her  lips, 
and  she  threw  her  work  on  one  side  and  leaped  at  him. 

"A  good,  big  spuudge,"  she  insisted,  ''and  you've  got 
to  confess  that  you  got  out  of  the  wrong  side  of  the  bed." 

"I  confess." 

"And  you'll  never  be  cross  with  your  only  wife  again, 
not  if  she  plagues  you  ever  so?" 

"Never  no  more." 

"And  you'll  take  her  to  the  ball?" 

"To-morrow  night  as  ever  is." 

"And  dance  with  her  as  often  as  she  wishes?" 

"If  human  endurance  can  support  it,  I  shall,  I  swear 
it." 

"Then  you're  shriven  and  forgiven,  and  I  will  walk 
in  the  Gardens.  Wait  till  I  get  some  bread  for  the 
ducks." 

Next  evening  she  came  in  to  him  in  the  study,  radiant 
and  lovely  in  some  old-gold  stuff  that  shimmered  and 
rippled  like  water. 

"My  word,  you  do  look  splendiferous,"  he  praised 
her.  *'En  grande  tenue!  *Mrs.  Lee  looked  dashing  as 
a  waterfall.'  Can't  you  see  it  in  the  social  notes?  May 
Mrs.  Lee's  obscure  husband  kiss  her?" 

"Mr.  Philip  Lee,  the  well-known  dramatist,  may  have 
that  distinguished  honor,"  she  said,  with  a  grave  curtsey. 
"You're  looking  rather  nice  yourself.  There's  the  taxi. 
All  ready?" 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        227 

On  the  doorstep  they  met  Peter. 

''Just  a  little  flurry  among  the  great  and  good, 
Peter,"  Phil  explained.  "If  you  think  you're  going 
to  warm  yourself  at  our  fire  and  drink  our  whisky 
to-nio;ht,  you're  wrong." 

"Stop  your  nonsense.  Give  me  a  lift  as  far  as  Gov- 
ernment House  gates,  and  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go."  Peter 
was  evidently  big  with  news, 

"Some  rather  rotten  doings  in  the  Balkans,"  he  ex- 
plained.    "The  office  thinks  it's  pretty  serious." 

"Oh,  what's  wrong?"  they  both  asked,  together. 

"Those  beastly  Servians  have  murdered  the  Arch- 
duke What's-his-name  and  his  wife,"  replied  Peter. 

"Bad  luck  for  the  Archduke!  Wasn't  he  rather  an 
impossible  sort  of  bounder?"  Philip  asked,  with  the  airy 
haziness  of  possibilities  that  most  people  exhibited  at 
the  news. 

"Oh,  him!  I  s'pose  so.  But  Austria  seemed  to  have 
a  use  for  him,  and  if  she  tries  to  spank  Servia,  Brett 
thinks  there'll  be  trouble.    He  talks  European  "War." 

"Rot!"  scoffed  Philip,  largely,  while  Margaret  list- 
ened, and  thought  how  right  he  was.  "European  "War 
be  damned !  These  old  women  of  scaremongers  ought  to 
be  strung  up.  Read  Norman  Angel,  my  son,  and  when 
you've  finished  hand  it  on  to  Brett.  Here,  Peter,  you'd 
better  hop  off.  "We're  well  into  the  social  whirl,  and 
I  don't  want  my  wife  to  be  seen  with  a  common  reporter. 
Go  off  and  plot  out  your  European  War,  only  make  it 
a  world-war  while  you're  about  it.  Ink's  cheap,  and 
sensation  sells." 

"I'm  off.  If  you'll  tell  that  lordling  in  front  to  slow 
down,  I'll  hop.  I'm  going  back  to  see  if  there's  any- 
thing later." 

He  left  them,  and  they  entered  a  slow  moving  queue 
of  cars,  crawling  up  the  long  drive. 

The  State  Drawing-room  was  fairly  crowded,  where 
Their  Excellencies  were  receiving,  and  the  uniforms  and 
frocks  helped  to  make  a  brilliant  picture.  It  was  to  be 
the  last  ball  of  the  departing  Governor-General.  None 
of  the  guests  thought  for  a  moment  that  many  years 


228        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

would  pass  before  that  brilliant,  care-free  entertainment 
would  be  repeated. 

It  was  a  motley  gathering,  as  are  all  these  functions. 
Australian  social  life  draws  its  inspiration  from  the 
Governor-General,  and  the  State  Governors,  Government 
Houses  in  each  State  form  focal  spots,  around  w^hich 
revolve  successive  circles,  growing  larger  as  they  extend 
to  the  limiting  circumference. 

There  is  an  inner,  official  circle,  small  in  number, 
which  with  infinite  dignity  and  solemnity  gyrates  around 
the  fountain  of  honor.  Heads  of  Cabinets,  Ministers 
of  State,  great  departmental  chiefs  are  of  this  number. 
A  wide  circle  contains  the  army  of  K.C.M.G.'s,  C.M.G.'s, 
Kt.'s,  and  lesser  members  of  a  created  aristocracy'",  whose 
titles  have  often  been  purchased,  and  sometimes  even 
deserved.  Most  of  them  are  political  has-beens,  who  are 
flung  a  bauble  to  while  away  that  weary  time  on  the 
shelf  where  they  have  been  tidied  away. 

"What's  that  A.D.C.  looking  at?"  Margaret  asked 
Philip,  as  the  crowd  began  to  thin  out  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  move  off  to  the  ballroom.  ''Anything  wrong 
with  my  dress?" 

Philip  followed  her  glance  across  the  room.  A  tall, 
fair  man,  w^ith  the  blue  silk  facings  of  an  A.D.C,  was 
frankly  staring  at  them.  As  his  glance  met  Philip's 
he  turned  it,  in  well-bred  confusion  at  being  discovered 
in  an  act  of  rudeness.  Then  he  looked  again,  and  an 
odd,  flickering  smile  trembled  on  his  lips. 

**I'm  off  to  the  cloak-room,"  announced  Margaret. 
*'I'm  sure  I'm  coming  to  pieces.  Did  you  see  him  try 
to  hide  a  smile?" 

''You're  all  right,"  Philip  comforted  her.  "I  think 
he  imagines  he  knows  me." 

The  A.D.C.  was  standing  in  official  attendance  on 
Their  Excellencies,  who  were  receiving  a  few  late- 
comers, preparatory  to  the  opening,  official  set  of  Lanc- 
ers.   The  music  could  be  heard  just  commencing. 

Lady  Hotham  moved  by  her  husband's  side  acrost 
the  room.     She  knew  Margaret,  who  had  worked  with 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        229 

her  on  Committees.  As  she  passed,  she  stopped  a  moment 
and  spoke. 

*'Sir  Arthur  chanced  to  hear  your  name,  as  you  and 
Mr.  Lee  were  announced,"  said  Lady  Hotham.  **He 
would  like  to  be  presented  to  you." 

She  effected  the  introduction. 

*'Sir  Arthur  Lee!" 

Philip  bowed,  and  Sir  Arthur  smiled  with  a  wistful 
sort  of  friendliness. 

*'I  say — awfully  glad.  I'll  be  free  after  the  official 
set.    May  I— ah— talk  to  you  then?" 

He  moved  on,  after  Their  Excellencies,  with  a  back- 
ward smile. 

*'I  like  him,"  said  Margaret.  **Sir  Arthur  Lee! 
I  remember ;  he's  just  out  from  home — military  secretary, 
I  think.    Is  he  any  relation  of  yours'  Phil?" 

Philip  was  trying  to  remember  what  he  had  been  told 
of  his  cousin,  the  son  of  "that  woman."  He  had  rather 
got  the  idea  that  the  fellow  was  a  bit  of  a  bounder,  but 
whether  that  was  a  fact  or  a  deduction  he  could  not 
for  the  life  of  him  have  said. 

Margaret  was  busy  for  a  time,  for  her  programme 
had  few  gaps.  Two  dances  she  had  reserved  for  Philip 
gave  her  an  opportunity  of  talking  to  Sir  Arthur,  when 
at  last  he  was  free  to  make  his  way  to  them, 

"I  say,  Mrs.  Lee,  I'm  afraid  I  was  staring  at  you 
and  your  husband  like  a  bally  ass.  You  see.  I  'm  a  Lee, 
too,  and  a  cousin.  Isn't  your  name — Philip?"  h^  asked. 
"If  it  is,  there's  no  sort  of  doubt  about  it,  whether 
you  like  it  or  not.    What  ? ' ' 

"Then  we're  cousins,  all  right,"  Philip  admitted, 
while  Margaret  beamed  at  Sir  Arthur.  He  looked  quite 
young  enough  to  mother,  though  he  must  be  at  least  a 
year  or  so  older  than  Philip.  But  his  wistful  shyness 
had  gained  on  her  at  once. 

He  spoke  in  a  rather  pronounced  English  way,  in 
what  is  known  as  the  "Oxford  manner."  His  slender, 
tall  figure  gave  him  an  odd  note  of  immaturity,  an 
appealing  quality  that  touched  Philip  to  liking. 

"By  Jove,  that's  capital.    You  see,  I  knew  you  were 


230         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

living  somewhere  about.  But  it's  a  thundering  big 
place,  what?  I  thought  it  was  a  haWy  island,  don't  you 
know — ^sort  of  thing  you  could  sail  round  before  break- 
fast. I'm  an  awfully  ignorant  sort  of  blighter,  you 
know.  But  they  tell  me  it's  as  big  as  the  United  States. 
I  sort  of  gave  up  expecting  to  meet  you  then." 

"Then  you  were  looking  for  him?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Oh,  absolutely.  You  see,  now  the  mater's  dead, 
there's  nobody  but  him;  a  fellow  sort  of  likes  to  think 
he's  not  quite  alone  in  the  bally  world,  what?" 

"But  how  did  you  know  I  existed?"  asked  Philip, 
curiously. 

"Oh,  from  the  photograph,"  Sir  Arthur  informed 
him,  with  an  illuminating  smile. 

"The  photograph!"  echoed  Philip. 

"Oh,  absolutely!  The  photograph.  You  know  the 
one  your  mater  sent  my  mater — on  a  pony — oh,  a  ripper, 
absolutely.  You  haven't  altered  much,"  concluded 
Sir  Arthur. 

"But — do  you  mean  to  say  my  mater ?"  began 

Philip,  lost  in  amazement.  He  couldn't  tell  this  man 
how  impossible  it  was  that  his  mother  should  hold  any 
communication  with  "that  woman." 

"Absolutely,"  said  Sir  Arthur,  cheerfully,  and  Mar- 
garet began  to  count  the  number  of  times  he  made  that 
poor  adverb  work  for  him. 

"It's  so  like  your  mater,  Phil,"  she  put  in;  "in  her 
pride  of  possession  she  simply  couldn't  help  exhibiting 
you." 

It  was,  as  Margaret  said,  extremely  like  the  dowager 
Mrs.  Lee.  "That  woman's"  son  had  ousted  hers.  She 
should  at  least  see  the  beauty  and  strength  she  had 
supplanted.  So,  unknown  to  her  husband,  she  had  sent 
the  photograph. 

"I'm  jolly  glad  she  did  it, "_  said  Philip.  "You'll 
have  to  come  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  Gardens  and 
see  our  crib,  Cousin  Arthur." 

Margaret  laughed. 

"If  you  two  ridiculous  people  are  going  to  call  each 
other  'Cousin'  every  time  you  speak,  I'll  seream,"  she 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^31 

said.  "I'm  going  to  call  you  Arthur,  and  you  must 
call  me  Margaret.     The  idea!     Cousin  Arthur." 

"No,  really;  how  absolutely  topping  of  you!"  Sir 
Arthur  beamed,  and  his  fair  skin  reddened  with  delight. 
"You  know  I  haven't  a  friend  out  here.  Lord  Hot- 
ham  has  a  place  near  ours  in  Essex,  and  he's  been 
very  decent  to  me.  He  wrote  and  offered  me  a  billet, 
just  to  let  me  see  something  of  the  world." 

"What  did  you  do  with  yourself  in  England?"  Mar- 
garet asked  him. 

"Oh,  I  was  as  busy  as  a  little  bee.  You  know  what 
I  mean — huntin'  and  plenty  of  shoots,  and  of  course 
they  kept  me  at  it  in  the  Guards,"  he  replied. 

"The  Guards!  How  exciting!  How  Ouida  would 
hiave  loved  you!"  exclaimed  Margaret.  "A  soldier! 
What  are  you,  Arthur  ?    A  general  ? ' ' 

"Now  you're  rottin'  me.  I'm  a  captain,  but  there's 
dashed  little  chance  of  my  ever  seeing  active  service. 
That's  how  they  came  to  give  me  leave  for  Australia." 

Margaret's  partner  came  to  claim  her,  and  she  got  up. 

"To-morrow,  without  fail,  you're  to  come  and  see 
me,"  she  insisted. 

"Oh,  absolutely,"  Sir  Arthur  promised  fervently. 
"What  a  ripper!  Isn't  she,  old  chap?  I  mean  to  say, 
she's  just  right,  lovely,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Oh, 
absolutely!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"But  a  rival,  of  Solutre,  told  my  tribe  my  style  was  outre, 
'Neath  a   tomaliawk  of  diorite,  he  fell. 
And  I  left  my  views  on  Art,  barbed  and  tanged,  below  the  heart 
Of  a  mammotJiistic  etcher  at  Grenelle." 

— In  the  Neolithic  Aoe 

IT  wag  tea  hour  at  the  Savage  Club. 
A  babel  of  talk,  in  pleasant,  cultured  voices  hung 
on  llie  smoky  air.    The  Social  Room  generally  began 
to  fill  up  at  this  time.     Philip,  with  his  cousin  in  tow, 
stopped  short  at  the  door  and  surveyed  the  crowd. 

"Browne,"  he  called.  Dan  Browne,  who  was  acting 
as  Secretary,  an  office  always  filled  by  a  member,  looked 
up,  and  then  came  over. 

"Dan,"  5?aid  Philip,  "my  cousin.  Sir  Arthur  Lee. 
I've  just  had  him  made  an  honorary  member.  Show 
him  round  for  a  few  minutes  and  introduce  him  to 
some  of  the  boys.  I've  got  some  letters  I  simply  must 
get  off." 

Browne  was  a  lean,  solemn  individual,  of  a  gloomy 
habit,  and  a  trick  of  moving  about  among  the  members, 
mute  and  unsmiling.  But  if  a  good-natured  gibe  were 
flung  at  him,  the  reply  would  come  flashing,  lightning- 
quick,  and  for  a  laughter-laden  ten  minutes  his  lambent 
wit  would  play  around  his  opponent.  His  solemnity 
was  a  humorous  pose,  covering  a  nature  that  saw  Life 
as  a  jest — a,  thing  to  poke  fun  at,  or,  on  occasion,  to 
slash  with  a  mordant  tongue.  It  was  his  task  to  see 
that  the  Club  was  kept  brimming  with  cheerfulness. 
Known  to,  and  knowing,  everv^one,  his  progress  through 
the  Social  Room  was  a  perilous  affair  if  he  happened 
to  be  in  a  hurry. 

232 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        233 

He  smiled  warmly  at  Sir  Arthur,  and  held  out  a 
welcoming  hand. 

*'It  must  be  a  great  pleasure  for  you  to  meet  me, 
Sir  Arthur,"  he  said,  gravely.  *'I  am  the  best  snooker- 
player  in  the  Club." 

The  visitor  looked  at  the  rather  melancholy  face  and 
was  at  a  loss.  Snooker  seemed  a  surprisingly  conversa- 
tional gambit.  He  smiled  uncertainly,  and  looked  to 
Philip  for  enlightenment,  but  Philip  had  gone. 

"I'd  like  you  to  show  me  the  game,"  he  risked.  "I'm 
a  bally  ass  at  all  that  sort  of  thing. ' ' 

"So  am  I,"  confessed  Browne;  "as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  was  badly  whipped  last  night  at  the  final  of  the  snooker 
tournament,  and  I'm  just  trying  to  keep  my  pecker  up. 
Come  on  and  have  a  look  round. ' ' 

The  splendid  room  was  hung  round  with  priceless 
signed  artists'  proofs.  Black-and-white  original  of 
Norman  Lindsay;  caricatures  by  Vincent  and  Low; 
portraits  and  cartoons  with  a  score  of  great  names 
attached  decorated  the  walls  with  a  unique  distinction, 
while  a  frieze  of  aboriginal  weapons  lent  false  point  to 
the  name  of  the  Club.  A  stage  filled  one  end  of  the 
room.  A  mighty  fire  burned  red  in  a  noble  fireplace, 
and  in  deep,  capacious,  leather  armchairs  members  sat 
and  talked  over  their  tea.  As  Browne  brought  the 
guest  within  the  circle,  cheery  greetings  were  flung  at 
him, 

"Here's  a  man  you  must  know,"  said  Browne,  stop- 
ping before  the  chair  of  a  huge,  jolly  fellow — more 
of  a  monument  than  a  man.  "Gecko,  meet  my  friend. 
Sir  Arthur  Lee,  cousin  of  Philip's."  It  was  one  of 
Browne's  whimsicalities  to  adopt  Americanisms  on  oc- 
casion. He  turned  to  Sir  Arthur,  with  preternatural 
gravity.  "I'm  introducing  you  to  Gecko,  whose  other 
name  is  Finlay,  because  you're  sure  of  a  good  cup  of 
tea  at  three  o'clock,  if  you  wander  in  then  and  simply 
take  the  next  chair.  It's  a  tip  you'll  find  it  wise  to 
remember. ' ' 

"P'raps  Sir  Arthur  would  rather  make  it  a  whisky 
and  soda  now,  Dan?"  suggested  Gecko. 


234         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Ob,  no,  rather  not.  I  mean  to  say,  not  now," 
said  the  baronet,  whose  slower  mind  did  not  quite 
understand  this  prompting  of  hospitality. 

"Gecko's  alwaj^s  ready  for  that.  Sir  Arthur,"  shouted 
a  slight,  gray-headed  man,  of  extreme  youthfulness  of 
manner.  His  clean-shaven,  weather-beaten  face  was 
wrinkled  with  the  finely-graven  lines  that  laughter 
makes.  In  his  accent  there  was  a  transatlantic  flavor; 
his  speech  was  clipped  and  slurred  in  a  pleasantly 
intriguing  way.     As  he  spoke  he  came  over. 

"I  want  to  meet  Sir  Arthur  Lee,"  he  said,  putting 
out  a  friendly  fist.  "For  one  thing,  Phil  is  such  a 
damn  good  fellow  that  his  relatives  must  be  first  chop 
as  well,  and,  for  another,  everj^  visitor  offers  me  a  chance 
to  make  good  at  Rickety  Kate.  Play  it?  If  not,  we 
must  teach  you,  eh,  Dan?" 

Sir  Arthur  looked  at  him,  and  smiled  as  uncertainly 
as  he  had  at  Browne's  jest  about  snooker.  He  was  not 
sure  whether  he  was  being  laughed  at,  or  whether  he 
was  being  greeted  with  unaccustomed  good-fellowship. 
The  friendly  atmosphere  of  the  Savage  Club  rather 
puzzles  the  Englishman,  who,  with  as  warm  a  heart  as 
his  colonial  brother,  is  more  diffident  about  friendship. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  Browne  said,  slowly  and 
solemnly,  "I  did  not  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Matson, 
Sir  Arthur.  He's  rather  a  black  sheep — American 
mutton — you  may  have  noticed  the  flavor.  Matson  is 
one  of  the  left-overs  from  the  American  Civil  War.  He 
came  to  this  country  several  years  ago  in  a  panic, 
caused  by  apprehension  as  to  how  far  the  Prohibition 
movement  would  really  go  in  the  States.  While  whisky 
remains  at  sixpence  a  nobbier  he  is  likely  to  remain 
here.  You  may  nod  to  him  occasionally,  but  very  few 
will  drink  with  him." 

At  this  friendly  vituperation  the  visitor  smiled  once 
more  his  uncertain  smile  at  Matson,  who  was  quietly 
filling  his  pipe,  and  listening  with  a  critical  ear  to 
Browne's  indictment. 

"I'll  tell  you  something  about  Dan  Browne,  Sir 
Arthur,"  he  promised,  as  Dan  was  about  to  move  on 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        235 

with  his  guest.  "He  professes  to  be  a  teetotaller,  but 
he  was  arrested  for  drinking  on  unlicensed  premises 
the  other  night.  It's  a  fact.  Oh,  a  bad  hat!  A  bad 
hat!" 

*'The  Club  solicitor  is  taking  all  that  down  in  short- 
hand, Matson,  and  you  will  hear  from  me,"  Browne 
flung  back,  austerely,  and  moved  on  to  another  group. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  shjmess  of  the  Britisher 
had  vanished  in  this  warmth  of  friendliness,  and  he 
became  his  natural  self,  simple  and  unaffected,  the 
center  of  an  interested  circle. 

For  the  talk  happened  to  run  on  the  trouble  in  the 
Balkans.  Sir  Arthur  had  put  in  twelve  months  as 
legation  secretary  in  Belgrade,  and  was  able  to  shed 
some  light  on  actual  conditions  of  that  storm-center. 
The  little  knot  of  earnest  men  who  had  gathered  round 
him  listened  with  respect  to  his  views,  and  several  chairs 
were  pulled  closer  the  better  to  hear. 

It  was  a  new  experience  for  the  man  to  find  that  he 
had  actually  something  to  say  which  men  of  the  world 
cared  to  listen  to  with  interest.  An  understrapper  in 
political  and  diplomatic  departments  has  not  much 
opportunity  of  impressing  his  individualistic  views  on 
his  circle. 

Philip  Joined  the  group,  and  Sir  Arthur  broke  off 
his  explanation. 

*' Here's  Philip,"  he  said.  "I've  been  gassing  far 
too  long.  Know  nothing  about  it,  really,  you  know. 
Picked  up  scraps,  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  Of  course, 
if  this  comes  to  anything,  I  expect  I'll  have  to  go 
back.     Our  chaps  will  be  into  this — oh,  absolutely. ' ' 

"Do  you  mean  the  English  will  fight?"  someone 
asked. 

"Well,  you  know  we've  got  to  do  something,  I  mean — • 
well,  how  can  we  keep  out  of  it,  what?" 

"Hullo,  more  European  War  talk?  I  give  a  war 
three  months,"  cut  in  Philip.  "They'll  all  have  a 
belly-full  by  that  time.  They  always  growl  a  lot,  but 
there's  not  a  bite  in  the  whole  crowd.  Each  one  of 
'em's  earring  home  a  bone  he'd  have  to  drop  to  get 


236         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

at  the  other  fellow.    Remember  Agadir,     Here  comea 
Adler." 

He  hailed  the  violinist,  who  came  over  to  them. 

**Hail,  great  Philip,  and  how  goes  the  magnum 
opusf"  chanted  Adler,  who  was  forthwith  presented  to 
the  visitor. 

^'Oh,  yes,  that  reminds  me.  "Where,  oh,  where  is 
Simmons?  I  have  somewhat  to  discuss  with  friend 
Simmons." 

He  smiled,  as  he  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  a  wallet, 
and  from  the  wallet  a  newspaper  cutting. 

''Will  somebody  please  wake  up  the  well-known 
musical  critic  of  the  great  Daily  World f  Mr.  Sim- 
mons, forward,  please." 

Everyone  knew  the  Puck-like  humor  of  Adler,  and 
amused  looks  were  directed  at  him. 

A  fierce  little  man,  with  a  German  pompadour,  looked 
up  from  a  musical  magazine  he  was  reading.  It  was 
Simmons,  who  a  week  ago  had  arrived  from  a  holiday 
abroad,  and  had  not  assumed  his  duties  on  his  paper. 
He  had  been  ragged  about  several  blunders  of  which 
his  substitute  had  been  guilty.  Adler 's  humor  he 
particularly  dreaded.  He  had  watched  furtively  the 
production  of  the  cutting. 

**What  do  you  want?"  he  growled. 

**  Merely  to  read  one  of  youv  criticisms,  my  dear 
fellow,"  replied  Adler,  sweetly,  with  a  delighted  chuckle. 
"Simmons,"  he  explained  to  the  listening  group,  with 
the  manner  of  a  lecturer,  "friend  Simmons  is  a  classical 
scholar,  who  can  rarely  resist  the  fascination  of  a 
Latin  or  Greek  tag.     Listen." 

In  a  chanting  voice  he  road  from  the  cutting. 

**  'Mr.  Albert  Adler,  a  master  of  tone,  and 
superb  in  his  technique' — thanks,  old  chap.  I 
appreciate  that — ^'then  gave  a  magnificent  ren- 
dering of  Mozart's  D  Major  Concerta.  This  is, 
as  everybody  knows' — nice  touch  that,  Sim;  but 
what  follows  is  better.  Oh,  had  I  but  followed  the 
Arts! — 'is,  as  everybody  knows,  one  of  the  master's 
magni  opi.' 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        237 

* 'There  it  is!  Sim,  did  you  know  that  the  Grand 
Opi  Company  has  been  and  gone  and  put  'Opera'  on  all 
the  hoardings?" 

There  was  a  roar.  Simmons'  fierce  little  countenance 
was  a  study. 

"Oh,  my  Gawd!"  He  breathed:  "Bertie,  did  he 
really  write  that?  Not  magni  opi?  Show  me  the 
cutting."     He  took  it. 

"Oh,  hell!"  he  said,  solemnly.  "I'll  never  live  it 
down.  And  I  kept  my  trip  a  secret,  because  Shelley 
wished  me  to.     Everyone  will  think  I  wrote  that." 

"If  you  assure  us  to  the  contrary,  Sim,  old  chap, 
we'll  be  forced  to  take  your  word,"  Adler  assured  him, 

gravely.     "But  it  sounded  so  like  you  that "     He 

broke    into    uncontrollable    laughter    at    the    critic's 
expression. 

"Would  I  have  ever  said  you  were  superb,  or 
magnificent?"  he  snorted.  "I  may  know  nothing  of 
Latin,  but  I  do  know  something  of  music."  He  got  up, 
and  flung  his  magazine  into  the  chair.  "I'm  off,  to 
knock  spots  off  Shelley.  Why  in  Hades  didn't  he  read 
that  proof?" 

"Make  him  publish  a  complete  apologia,  Sim," 
advised  Browne, 

"Or,  as  Sim  would  prefer  to  say — apologium,"  Adler 
put  in,  slyly. 

The  indignant  Simmons  stalked  to  the  door. 

"Sim!"  called  Browne.     The  other  turned. 

"If  he  refuses,  hit  him  on  his  ora  pro  nohis,"  Dan 
advised.  Simmons  dashed  through  the  swinging  door, 
and  deigned  no  reply. 

"Has  anyone  ordered  tea?"  Adler  asked.  ^ 

"We  were  waiting  for  you,  Bertie,"  said  Browne. 
"There  are  eight  of  us." 

Adler  pushed  the  bell. 

"It  seems  to  me  I  always  pay,"  he  said. 

"The  penalty  of  success,  Bertie,"  Gecko  told  him. 
"Make  mine  a  whisky." 

"And  mine  coffee,"  Matson  shouted.  "Bertie,  did 
you  ever  tell  'em  about  Baggert,  that  'Tirade'  man?" 


238        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"That's  the  boss  cocky  of  all  musical  critics,  isn't 
it?  Hasn't  he  written  reams  exposing  the  ignorance 
of  the  whole  profession?  I  like  'The  Tirade.'  It 
always  scolds  the  other  chappies,  and  tells  the  public 
there's  only  one  artist  in  Melbourne,  and  his  name  is 
Landes." 

It  was  Landes  who  spoke,  a  portrait  painter,  who 
could  see  beauty  even  in  a  Cabinet  Minister.  He  had 
been  commissioned  by  the  Federal  Art  Advisory  Board 
to  paint  the  portraits  of  two  Governors  to  add  to  the 
collection  hung  at  Parliament  House. 

**And  it's  r-rather  whumsical,  ef  ye  come  to  luik  at 
et  rightly,"  Hughie  Melvor  said,  "an'  reflect  that  it 
was  me  that  made  young  Landes,  big  man  as  he  thenks 
himsel'  to-day." 

McIvor,  a  painter  himself,  was  Chairman  of  the  Art 
Advisory  Board.  Little,  white-haired,  caustic,  his 
broad  Scots  tongue  was  generally  heard  lashing  the 
Philistines.  He  was  an  iconoclast,  and  new  schools  of 
Art  came  in  for  constant  denunciation.  Young  men 
he  loved,  and  old  and  young  loved  him. 

Music  was  ousted,  and  painters  and  paintings  held 
the  center  of  attention.  A  Norman  Lindsay  exhibition 
was  on  view. 

"I  know  nothing  much  about  art,"  a  man  said,  "but 
I  consider  Lindsay  obscene.  His  women  are  gutter- 
drabs,  without  beauty,  as  without  virtue.  As  for  his 
men,  they're  all  satyrs." 

McIvor  held  him  with  a  severe  eye. 

"There's  but  yin  sayin'  gave  aboot  ye,  Andrew,  an' 
that's  the  grace  t'  admit  ye  know  nothing  aboot  Ar-r-t. 
Lat  me  tell  ye  this — Nor-r-man  Lundsay  is  th'  sincerest 
artist  in  the  world  to-day — the  very  greatest  black-and- 
white  man  usin'  the  pencil.  An'  ut's  because  he  shows 
a'  the  passions  an'  ugliness  that  beset  men's  hairts  that 
he's  sae  great.  He  sees  deep  into  human  nature,  an' 
he's  the  fine  courage  tae  draw  what  he  sees,  withoot 
makin'  pretty-pretty  pictures  for  th'  great,  silly  pop- 
ulace. Australia  should  go  on  its  knees  to  God  an'  thank 
him  for  the  gift  o'  Nor-r-man  Lundsay." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        239 

"Hear!     Hear!     Mac,"  came  approving  voices. 

"Well,  all  the  same,  they're  not  things  I  want  on  my 
walls,"  persisted  the  critic. 

"An'  ye 're  richt,  lad.  Hang  up  the  covers  o' 
chocolate-boxes,  as  lang's  they  satisfy  ye,"  advised 
Mclvor.  "I  misdoot  ye  also  would  keep  Smollett  an' 
Fieldin'  an'  all  their  kind  aff  yer  shelves.  I'll  tell  ye 
somethin',  Andrew.  Till  the  world  can  think  o'  wimmin 
an'  men  and  their  relations  with  each  ither  withoot 
thenkin'  ill  thochts,  we'll  never  get  any  forrarder. 
When  ye  only  thenk  o'  sex  for  yer  ain  private  gratifica- 
tion, ye'er  doin'  mischief.  Bring  things  oot  into  the 
licht  o'  day,  let  free  discussion  cleanse  them  from  a' 
the  dirty  accumulations  o'  the  cellars  where  they've 
bin  for  generations,  an'  the  world  wuU  be  th'  sweeter. 
That's  whut  Lundsay's  doiu'." 

"  'Thus  saith  the  Preacher.'  Good  for  you,  Hughie. 
I  suppose  you  approve  of  Morgan's  article  on  Owen  in 
last  week 's  '  Tirade '  ? "     Thus  Philip. 

"I  don't  like  the  man,"  said  Mclvor. 

"You  knew  Owen,  who  died  in  London  a  month  ago — 
a  drunken  sweep,  who  spent  most  of  his  time  in  gaol, 
and  the  rest  of  it  rioting  with  street  women,  and  writing 
their  praises  in  beautifully  maudlin  verse?"  asked 
Philip. 

' '  I  know  of  him, ' '  Mclvor  admitted. 

"Well,  Morgan  has  a  eulogy  of  him  in  'The  Tirade.' 
It's  worth  while  to  read  it,  to  see  how"  he  lashes  the 
well-behaved  portion  of  humanity,  belaboring  them  with 
words  for  their  beastly  cleanliness.  They  have  not  the 
courage,  according  to  Morgan,  to  get  drunk  and  dis- 
orderly. They  are  smug,  church-going  animals,  outside 
the  artistic  pale.  But  the  ending  of  the  article  is 
immense — Morgan  at  his  best.  He  says  something  like 
this:  'William  Owen,  drunkard,  waster,  singer  of 
sweet  songs,  has  justified  the  life  that  God  bestowed  upon 
him,  and  when  his  millions  of  detractors,  who  see  only 
his  debauchery,  when  the  millions  of  smug  church- 
goers who  have  not  the  courage  to  taste  the  warm  delights 
of  sin,  enter  upon  the  future  existence,  they  will  see 


240        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"William  Owen,  who  dared  to  fulfil  the  nature  given  him, 
at  the  great  White  Throne' — or  words  to  that  effect." 

"That  paper  would  be  great  if  it  wasn't  so  con- 
foundedly small,"  declared  Matson.  "Their  idea  that 
some  journal  is  necessary  to  trounce  hypocrisy  is  all 
right,  but  they  have  somehow  got  the  idea  that  to  be 
a  law-abiding  citizen  is  hypocrisy — that  every  natural 
man  must  want  to  be  a  hog,  and  if  he  refrains,  it's 
because  he's  a  hypocrite." 

The  talk  switched  to  other  subjects,  and  became 
more  general.  Sir  Arthur  said  nothing,  but  was  inter- 
ested beyond  measure.  So  this  was  Australia!  The 
backblocks!  He  had  been  told  in  London  that  he  would 
have  to  rough  it.  This  Club  was  as  good  as  anything 
he  had  seen.  The  men  might  have  been  found  in  any 
better-class  institution  of  the  same  kind.  The  talk 
gave  evidence  of  a  very  rich  artistic  existence.  What 
wealth  and  culture  were  capable  of  was  in  evidence 
all  around  him. 

In  what  way  did  these  people  suffer  from  being 
placed  so  far  from  the  center  of  things?  Apparently 
not  much.  The  best  Art,  the  best  Music,  the  best 
Drama  came  to  their  shores,  and  it  was  more  than  evi- 
dent that  it  was  all  supplemented  by  their  own  creation. 

He  was  not  clever,  but  he  was  quite  capable  of  seeing 
that  life  moved  here  every  whit  as  actively  as  in  London, 
but  with  a  verve  and  freedom  which  were  more  visible. 

He  had  got  to  the  point  of  decision.  He  would  buy 
a  place  in  the  country  and  settle  in  Australia.  What 
on  earth  was  the  use  of  keeping  up  that  gaunt,  ugly 
Essex  barn?  Friends  were  here  for  the  asking. 
Hospitality  was  his  before  he  asked.  His  lonely  heart 
went  out  to  these  friendly  fellows,  who  had  so  readily 
made  him  one  of  themselves. 

"Is  Sir  Arthur  Lee  in  the  Club?"  asked  one  of  the 
stewards,  interrupting  the  stream  of  talk.  "Govern- 
ment House  on  the  'phone." 

He  got  up  and  excused  himself. 

"I'm  recalled,"  he  announced  a  minute  afterward. 
"The  G.G.  has  just  got  a  cable.     Awfully  sorry,  in  a 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^41 

way,  but — it  means  a  chance  of  a  scrap.  I'll  say  good- 
bye." He  went  gravely  round  the  circle.  It  was  like 
taking  leave  of  friends. 

Philip  went  out  with  him. 

"You'll  find  it's  all  a  false  alarm,  old  chap,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  p'raps,"  his  cousin  said.  "Do  you  know  I 
think  I'll  come  back  here  and  settle  down." 

"Good  man.  Margaret  will  be  on  end  bucked. 
Don't  forget,  that's  a  promise." 

"Oh,  absolutely,"  Sir  Arthur  called,  cheerily,  and 
the  lift  carried  him  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"No  easy  hope  or  lies 

Shall  bring  us  to  our  goal, 
But  iron  sacrifice 

Of    body,    mil,   and  soul. 
There  is  hut  one  task  for  oH— ? 

One   life  for  each  to  give 
Who    stands    if    England    fall? 
Who  dies  if  England  live?" 

— "For  All  We  Have  and  Ari" 

PHILIP  locked  the  door  of  his  study  with  an 
irritable  finality,  as  though  the  turned  key  might 
keep  on  the  other  side  all  the  fuss  and  fury  that 
were  turning  the  world  upside  down. 

All  this  talk  of  War  infuriated  him.  How  easy  it 
was  to  be  drawn  into  the  seething  vortex  of  the  unin- 
telligent opinions  of  his  fellows  ?  The  Club  had  become 
unbearable.  Sir  Arthur's  summons  to  rejoin  his  regi- 
ment had  been  only  the  first  of  many  portents  that  had 
set  the  prophets'  tongues  wagging. 

Daily  grew  the  cloud,  blacker  and  bigger,  and  men  no 
longer  talked  the  easy,  pleasant  things  which  were  the 
index  of  quiet,  uneventful  existence.  Beauty  and  Art 
were  peace-time  luxuries.  Their  mouths  were  full  of 
fleet  statistics,  and  gun  calibres;  they  reckoned  up  man- 
power; they  canvassed  the  value  of  recent  inventions; 
they  passed  judgment  on  the  men  who  were  riding  the 
storm  in  Europe. 

The  baleful  thing  intruded  hatefully  into  Philip's 
normal  life.  It  was  red  realitj^  thrust  ruthlessly  into 
his  petty  life  of  make-believe — a  naked  sword  that 
barred  the  road  of  his  ambition.  It  had  altered  all 
previous  standards  of  importance. 

242 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^MS 

He  felt  his  ego  shrinking.  How  could  the  world 
concern  itself  with  the  shadows  of  imagination,  in  this 
welter  of  violence?  His  very  consciousness  of  his  own 
littleness  but  chafed  his  irritation. 

Just  as  he  locked  his  study  door,  so  he  closed  his 
mind  even  to  Margaret.  War  had  not  yet  come,  and 
was  not  coming,  and  he  refused  to  listen  to  these  wise- 
acres, who  had  already  defeated  Germany  and  her  paper 
armies.  Margaret  was  crazy.  She  had  been  swept  off 
her  feet  by  the  general  excitement.  Well,  he  would 
not  give  her  any  chance  to  echo  that  ass  Peter,  who  was 
always  coming  over  with  some  eoek-and-buU  yam  his 
paper  had  to  contradict  the  next  day. 

Margaret  could  not  understand  her  husband  in  the 
least.  Facts  were  facts,  and  the  danger  was  real.  It 
was  England's  peril.  The  deep,  slow-moving  stream 
of  love  for  the  Motherland  had  been  rapidly  swollen  by 
countless  tributary  rivulets  of  affection,  gushing  from 
myriads  of  hearts,  ordinarily  inarticulate,  until  the 
stream  had  overi3owed  its  banks.  From  the  dull  norm 
of  toleration  or  pale  satisfaction,  every  class  was  swept 
away  into  the  deep,  sweet  waters  of  patriotism. 

This  is  not  a  war-story,  but  no  picture  of  the 
Australian  ethos  would  be  complete  if  it  left  out  of 
account  the  wonderful  phenomenon  that  appeared  at 
this  period — the  entire  heart  of  a  dominion  swelling  to 
the  fervid  love  that  gladly  sacrifices  itself,  and  in  the 
sacrifice  finds  its  own  nationhood. 

Philip,  with  a  mind  wholly  given  to  non-essentials, 
utterly  misread  the  movement  that  was  going  on  around 
him.  His  was  not  the  attitude  of  a  coward,  who  sees 
in  events  the  emergence  of  a  crisis  that  threatens  his 
safety.  Of  physical  bravery  he  had  enough  and  to 
spare.  He  honestly  saw  in  the  preliminary  attempts  to 
avoid  a  death-struggle  nothing  but  pretense  and  postur- 
ing, with  a  measure  of  chicanery,  the  odium  of  which 
all  the  participating  nations  shared. 

Behind  his  locked  door  he  worked  feverishly  and 
unhappily,  as  a  man  who  works  against  time.  He 
emerged  for  a  hasty  meal,  with  a  distaste  for  Margaret 


2U        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

which  was  intensified  by  her  sheaf  of  news,  gleaned 
through  Peter. 

"He's  coming  over,  after  the  paper  is  out,"  she  said. 

Philip  rose  impatiently,  without  a  word,  and  went  to 
the  telephone.  A  moment  afterwards,  Margaret  heard 
him  tell  Peter  bluntly  not  to  come. 

*'I'm  frightfully  busy,  my  dear  old  chap,  and  these 
days  you  smell  of  blood.    It  puts  me  off." 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  interrupted  meal. 

**I  heard  you,"  his  wife  said. 

"I  meant  you  to,"  he  rejoined.  ** There's  a  good  deal 
too  much  harping  on  this  miserable  business.  Has  the 
whole  world  got  to  stop  its  work  and  eavesdrop  on  a 
parcel  of  diplomats  playing  a  game  of  poker?" 

''Don't  yon  care  whether  England  comes  in  or  not?" 
she  asked,  in  an  indignant  tone. 

**Care!  Of  course  I  care,  if  it  came  to  that.  What 
I  object  to  is  the  frantic  bluff  of  the  whole  thing.  How 
could  Germany  defy  the  world  with  a  straw  man  like 
Austria  to  help  her?  She  reminds  me  of  a  malicious 
beast  of  a  man  with  a  mastiff,  which  has  pinned  a  chap 
in  a  corner — hasn't  the  least  intention  of  letting  the 
brute's  head  go,  but  is  determined  to  see  what  he  can 
screw  out  of  the  horrified  spectators,  before  he'll  call 
the  dog  off." 

**But    Sir    Edward    Grey ,"    she    began.       He 

laughed  mirthlessly. 

"Monkeys  on  a  stick,"  he  said.  "As  Grey  goes  up 
in  his  offers,  the  Germans  will  climb  down.  The  string 
works  both  animals.  Bluff!  You'll  see.  It's  the 
history  of  every  flutter  in  the  dove-cote  for  years,  ever 
since  trade  became  more  powerful  than  kings.  Who's 
going  to  find  the  money  to  pay  millions  of  men  in  the 
trenches?  And  if  that  were  found,  who's  going  to  do 
the  world's  work  meantime?  It  would  simply  tumble 
to  pieces,  topple  over  by  disturbance  of  the  center  of 
gravity.  Take  my  word  for  it,  in  a  week  you'll  be 
reading  both  sides'  claim  to  a  great  diplomatic  victory." 

There  were  millions  who  shared  Philip's  complacent 
reading  of  the  situation  in  those  days. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        645 

Then  came  August  the  Fourth.  Stunned  with  the 
shocking  reversal  of  what  he  had  preached  so  surely, 
Philip  came  out  into  the  world  of  men  to  find  that 
Australia  was  England's  fighting  partner,  only  one  unit 
of  many  fighting  dominions,  whose  existence  was  the 
stake  in  the  big  game  a-playing.  His  theories  were 
smashed,  and  from  the  ruins  sjnnpathy  and  resentment 
flamed  hot.  His  work  was  locked  away.  The  "play" 
was  no  longer  *'the  thing."  From  his  study  he  went 
straight  to  a  recruiting  ofSce.  At  the  door  he  paused, 
struck  by  a  sudden  thought.  Then  he  turned  inconti- 
nently on  his  heel,  and  walked  rapidl.y  to  Field's  office. 
He  had  forgotten  his  obligation  to  Field. 

He  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"M.J.,"  he  began,  "I've  got  to  enlist." 

''They're  not  taking  married  men  yet,  old  chappie. 
There's  a  big  reservoir  of  the  unattached  single  men  to 
tap,  and  the  Government  don't  want  the  extra  expense 
of  sustenance  to  wives  and    all  that  sort  of  thing  until 

they're well  forced  to  it.    But  let's  suppose  that 

they  want  you.     What  then?" 

*  *  I  've  contracted  to  deliver  you  a  play,  and  I  've  been 
paid  for  it.  How  do  I  stand  with  you?  You  could 
prevent  me  going  if  you  liked. ' ' 

''What  the  hell  do  you  take  me  for?"  demanded 

Field,  "a pro-German?     To  blazes  with  the  play! 

But  till  your  sort  is  called  for,  you  can  keep  going. 
How  'g  it  now,  by  the  way  ? ' ' 

"Half  finished." 

"Well,  get  to  it.  I  want  it.  Don't  you  think  because 
the  lid's  lifted  off  hell  that  the  world's  going  to  stop 
amusement.     They'll  want  it  all  the  more,  if  I'm  any 

judge,  and  it's  beyond  any doubt,  they'll  need  it 

more.  When  they  call  for  married  men,  you  nip  into 
a  good  place  in  the  queue.  Till  then,  remember  M.J. 
and  deliver  as  much  of  the  goods  as  you  can." 

The  pageantry  of  war  was  already  filling  the  streets 
and  the  daily  lives  of  the  people.  Squads  of  laughing, 
self-conscious  young  fellows  in  mufti,  carrying  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  bags,  suit-cases,  and  parcels,  marched 


246        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

along  in  most  unmilitary  order,  with  many  a  quip  flung 
out.  to  the  crowd.  Sometimes  serious,  set  faces  bore 
testimony  to  minds  that  saw  more  in  the  affair  than  a 
trip  across  the  world.  But,  since  the  Australian  has 
on  occasion  a  good  deal  of  the  dislike  of  the  English- 
man to  the  display  of  real  emotion,  it  is  possible  that 
much  of  the  gaiety  was'  superficial,  and  beneath  it  there 
lay  a  grim  enough  realization  of  what  war  meant  and 
was  going  to  mean. 

All  kinds  of  men  marched  together,  rich  man,  poor 
man,  beggar  man,  thief.  They  were  of  all  religions. 
The  saintly  head  of  the  great  Eoman  Catholic  Church, 
which  in  pure  religion  does  so  much  good,  and  in  politics 
so  much  mischief,  was  at  one  with  the  Anglican  and 
Methodist  brethren  in  sending  his  young  men  forth.  It 
was  not  till  his  death,  some  time  afterwards,  that  crafty, 
scheming  brains  saw  the  political  advantages  that  might 
ensue  from  a  division  in  the  unity  of  loyalty,  and  de- 
liberately put  the  interes-ts  and  religion  of  Jesus  Christ 
in  pawn  to  reap  a  temporal  advantage.  But  that  time 
had  not  yet  come,  and  with  a  splendid  rhythmical  unison, 
all  creeds  and  classes  swung  towards  the  camps. 

Philip  watched  the  marching  bodies  with  the  fasci- 
nation of  suddenly  awakened  understanding.  Mar- 
garet's enthusiasm  had  somehow  quenched  his.  Now  it 
stirred,  with  a  queer  scalp-lifting  emotion. 

"Hullo,  old  chap,  I  was  coming  back  to  look  you  up 
to-night,"  he  heard  beside  him,  and  his  cousin,  Arthur 
Lee,  who  had  left  for  England  some  days  ago,  was  hold- 
ing out  his  hand,  with  a  cheerful  grin. 

* '  Good  Lord,  did  you  swim  back  ? "  he  asked. 

**The  good  old  train,  old  thing.  They  cabled  me  at 
Adelaide  to  reverse.  I'm  to  do  some  trainin' — the 
swagger  British  officer  and  the  green  Colonial  troops, 
what?" 

"How  rotten  for  you!"  exclaimed  Philip.  "You'll 
be  out  of  it  all.'* 

"K.  says  three  years.  I'll  probably  go  over  with 
your  first  Til  lot.  Of  course  I'd  rather  like  to  be  with 
my  own  mob,  but  I  don't  run  the  Army." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        9A1 

"Have  you  got  to-night  free  ?"  asked  Philip ;  "because 
Margaret  will  be  wanting  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  absolutely.  I  don't  report  till  to-morrow.  I 
only  got  in  two  hours  ago,  had  a  tub  and  a  change,  and 
ran  in  to  hear  the  news.  They  don't  tell  you  much  at 
Government  House,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Eight.  Just  let  me  get  on  to  a  'phone  and  I'll 
tell  Margaret  I'm  bringing  you  out.  Good  Lord,  I 
thought  you  were  a  ghost." 

Margaret  was  equally  surprised,  and  even  more  de- 
lighted than  Philip.  When  she  had  greeted  him,  she 
turned  to  Philip. 

"Peter's  done  it,"  she  said. 

"Done  what?"  he  asked. 

"He's  gone  into  camp — Private  Peter  "Wister.  Dear 
old  Peter,"  and  quite  unaccountably  and  suddenly  she 
dissolved  into  tears. 

"His  mother's  down  here,"  she  said,  dabbing  at  her 
face. 

"Why  on  earth  wasn't  I  told  of  all  this?  His  mother 
should  be  here  with  us,"  Philip  said,  indignantly. 

*  *  You — ^you  said  he — he — smelt  of  blood, ' '  she  accused 
him.  How  could  he  be — sup — supposed  to  discover  you 
cared  to  know?" 

"But  hang  it  all,  Margaret,  I  smell  of  blood  myself 
now.    We  all  do." 

"Oh,  absolutely,  old  dear,"  from  Arthur,  with  a  vague 
idea  of  backing  up  Philip. 

"And  so  we  all  should.  It's  the  best  smell  in  the 
world  now,"  she  said,  with  a  ring  of  defiance  in  her 
voice.  "I  wouldn't  want  a  man  of  mine  to  be  so  dainty 
as  to  hold  his  nose  when  a — a  soldier  went  by." 

"That's  quite  right — quite  right,"  soothed  Arthur, 
wondering  where  the  shoe  was  pinching. 

"Come  on  and  let's  eat.  The  dinner  needn't  spoil,'* 
said  Margaret,  taking  his  arm. 

"I'm  off  to  collect  Mrs.  Wister,  as  soon  as  dinner's 
over,"  Philip  said,  "do  you  know  where  she's  staying?'* 

"At  Ma  Chuff's.  Peter's  room  is — empty,"  replied 
Margaret. 


248        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Well,  we  can  'phone  her  and  tell  her  she's  to 
come  here,"  Philip  decided.  ''Now,  Arthur,  where  is 
all  this  business  going  to  lead?" 

**If  Germany  doesn't  swallow  us  in  a  mouthful,  before 
we  can  put  our  chaps  across,"  said  his  cousin,  '*I  think 
she'll  go  under.  But  it's  a  tremendous  'if.*  I  say, 
do  you  mind  very  much  if  we  don't  talk  about  the  bally 
war?  Y'see,  my  pals  are  all  over  there,  and  there's 
such  a — such  a  handful  of  them."  His  face  grew  red, 
then  pale.  His  lips  were  pressed  to  a  hard  straight  line, 
"Damn  them!  Damn  them!"  he  made  a  bitter  end, 
and  then  his  eyes  begged  Margaret  to  excuse  him. 

"Damn  them!"  echoed  Margaret,  and  put  down  her 
knife  and  fork.  She  stared  in  front  of  her;  away  in 
the  distance,  in  a  dream  of  her  own  creating,  she  wag 
seeing  a  stained  dog-tent  and  Peter  "Wister  seated  within. 
Slowly  she  came  back  to  the  brilliant  room,  with  its 
scarlet  electric  lights,  noted  Philip's  matter-of-fact  face, 
as  he  detailed  his  interview  with  Field,  the  beginning  of 
which  she  had  not  heard,  and  in  a  calm,  detached  way 
compared  the  two  men,  the  man  she  had  married,  and 
the  man  she^ — no,  it  wasn't  true.  The  man  she  loved 
was  Philip,  but  sometimes  he  slipped  away  from  her. 
She  looked  at  him  attentively,  and  he  smiled  at  her  with 
affection. 

"What  a  curious  phenomenon  married  people  exhibit ! 
In  the  very  closest  of  relations,  familiar  with  the  slighest 
nuances  of  speech,  able  to  interpret  a  desire  before  it 
is  expressed,  it  happens  in  every  case  that  there  is  a 
personality  that  lies  in  deep  concealment,  critical  of 
the  other's  action,  sharply  hostile  on  occasion,  contemp- 
tuous, unjust.  And  over  this  is  spread  the  smooth, 
ordinary,  everyday  veneer  of  careful  suavitj^ 

As  Philip  smiled  at  Margaret,  she  was  thinking  deep 
in  her  mind,  that  he  was  getting  sleek.  In  his  dinner- 
clothes,  he  reminded  her  of  a  well-mannered  black-and- 
white  cat.  Yet  all  the  time  she  was  listening  with  ap- 
parent interest  to  his  description  of  the  raw  soldiers 
marching  to  camp,  and  smiling  at  his  vivid  phrases 
which  brought  into  prominence  some  humorous  incident 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        S49 

or  other.     Then  her  heart  missed  a  beat.     What  was  he 
saying  ? 

"  I  'm  off  as  soon  as  I  've  finished  the  play.  _  I  '11  work 
day  and  night  at  it,  and  a  month  will  see  it  through. 
Then  I'll  be  into  it." 

''Good  man,"  approved  his  cousin. 

"Oh,  Phil!"  Margaret  murmured.  How  she  had 
longed  for  him  to  say  that  he  too  would  go,  would  tear 
off  those  incongruous  waiter's  garments  and _  get  into 
khaki  and  a  stained  dog-tent.  Now  he  had  said  it,  and 
a  quick  dismay  struck  her  heart,  and  paled  her  face. 
Of  course  he  must  go.  Hundreds  of  women  that  very 
night  were  listening  to  hundreds  of  similar  determina- 
tions. She  could  not  be  a  coward.  "What  a  common- 
place it  all  was,  yet  with  what  horribly  new  dismay 
women  came  to  the  sacrifice ! 

She  rose.  Philip  hurried  off  to  telephone  to  Mrs. 
Chuff,  and  arrange  for  Mrs.  Wister  to  come  across  the 
river.  Arthur  glanced  at  Margaret  sympathetically. 
He  actually  understood  women. 

''You're  a  sport,  Margaret,"  he  praised  her.  "And 
you  ought  to  be  proud  of  Phil.  He  doesn't  say  much, 
but  he's  a  Briton,  for  all  that." 

"He's  got  to  go,  of  course,"  she  agreed,  tonelessly. 
"He'll  like  it,  too.  Probably  he'll  develop  military 
ambition  and  become  a  Field-Marshal." 

"Oh,  absolutely,"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm. 

They  talked  no  more  of  the  war.  It  was  as  if  they 
had  a  secret  agreement  among  them.  Yet  for  all  that, 
the  shadow  of  it  hung  over  them.  Margaret  played, 
and  sang,  but  the  old  verve  was  lacking,  and  when  she 
rose  from  the  piano,  and  declared  she  couldn't  manage 
a  note  more,  neither  of  the  men  made  any  attempt  to 
persuade  her. 

Then  came  Polly,  and  with  Polly  a  most  ill-behaved 
dress-basket,  which  bulged  ominously  and  displayed 
portion  of  a  dress  squeezed  in  the  enveloping  lid.  The 
restraining  rope  had  come  off,  and  the  cabman  muttered 
observations,  as  he  bore  it,  like  a  huge,  yellow  concertina, 
in  his  arms. 


250        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

She  greeted  them  all  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  and, 
on  understanding  that  Sir  Arthur  had  come  that  day 
from  Adelaide,  became  slightly  confused  and  welcomed 
him  to  Australia. 

"I  was  a  silly  ole  hen  to  come,  and  Peter  will  dress 
me  down  properly,"  she  said;  "but  I  somehow  felt  I 
better.  O'  course  he  won't  be  going  away  for  ages  yet, 
not  till  Christmas,  Mrs.  Chuff  says ;  but  still  Christmas 
is  harvest  and  all  that,  and  so  Father  and  I — here, 
lovey,  you  mustn't  carry  that,"  for  Margaret  had  stooped 
to  squeeze  the  lid  of  the  dress-basket  to  the  state  of 
tightness  which  would  allow  Philip  to  carry  it  away; 
"no,  nor  your  husband  neither.  Lord  bless  me,  if 
Polly  "Wister  couldn't  carry  her  own  basket,  it  'ud  be 
a  funny  thing." 

She  clasped  it  in  her  arms,  and  followed  Margaret 
to  the  bedroom,  her  voice  going  cheerfully  all  the  while, 
sometimes  breaking  off  the  main  theme  of  Peter, 
without  a  change  of  tone,  to  exclaim  on  the  unusual 
beauty  of  the  curtains  or  furniture.  Then  Margaret  left 
her  to  "tittivate"  a  bit,  as  she  said.  She  talked  away 
still,  and  emerged,  with  the  words — "so  Father  said  he 
gruessed  he  could  manage  after  all,  and  I'd  better  go 
if  I  was  so  set  on  it.  And  here  I  am,"  she  concluded, 
with  a  wide  smile. 

Philip  brought  her  over  to  a  comfortable  chair  by 
the  fire  and  made  much  of  her,  until  she  was  beaming 
all  over  with  pleasure.  Sir  Arthur's  title  made  no 
other  impression  on  her  than  to  imbue  her  with  a  fixed 
idea  that  he  must  be  a  friend  of  the  King.  She  re- 
peatedly asked  him  questions  which  only  an  extreme 
intimacy  with  the  Eoyal  Family  would  have  enabled 
him  to  answer. 

"That's  one  thing  I  got  a  good  memory  for.  I 
could  tell  you  the  old  Queen's  children  and  who  they 
married  and  when  they  died,"  she  boasted.  "I  will 
say  I  liked  the  old  Queen ;  not  that  King  Edward  wasn't 
a  good  King,  He  was,  and  I'll  give  him  his  due,  but 
give  me  Queen  Victoria.  I  had  a  sock  that  belonged  to 
her.     What  became  o'  the  other  I  couldn't  say,  I  only 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACPHEVEMENT        251 

saw  one.  Is  King  George  a  pleasant  man  to  get  along 
with?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Arthur. 

"Oh,  absolutely,"  replied  that  nonplussed  young 
man.  He  had  already  told  her  he  did  not  enjoy  the 
King's  friendship,  but  she  passed  over  his  denial,  and 
assumed  a  high  degree  of  intimacy. 

"I'm  not  surprised,"  she  said.  "I  saw  him  when 
he  was  out  here,  him  and  his  wife,  if  you  can  call  a 
Princess  a  wife — sounds  wrong,  somehow — and  he  looked 
to  me  a  kind,  biddable  sort  of  man.  Now  he  wouldn't 
be  fighting  in  this  war,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  no,  rather  not — I  mean  to  say,  he's  got  generals 
to  do  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  explained  Arthur. 

"I  suppose  Peter '11  see  him.  Mrs.  Chuff  says  he's 
almost  sure  to.  Well,  it'll  be  nice.  I  don't  suppose 
the  war  will  last  long.  England  always  wins  very 
quick.  Peter  won't  be  much  good.  It's  George  that's 
the  good  shot.  But  he  can't  go  till  the  harvest's  in, 
what  with  one  thing  an'  another,  an'  Jim  being  poorish 
with  sciatica.  My  word,  you'd  be  surprised  to  see  the 
crowd  that's  goin'  from  up  our  way." 

She  turned  to  Sir  Arthur  again. 

"You  wouldn't  have  come  across  Alec  Mclntyre  in 
London,  by  any  chance  ? ' '  she  asked  genially. 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

**  'S  funny.  He  went  over  there  a  good  five  years 
ago.  He  used  to  make  mud  animals.  His  mother 
whacked  him  for  it,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  over 
in  London  they  pay  him  for  doin'  it,  only  he  makes 
'em  out  of  something  that  lasts  longer 'n  mud.  Well, 
Alec  sent  a  telegram  to  his  father  sayin'  he  was  going 
off  to  fight.  An'  the  funny  part  is  his  two  brothers  on 
the  station  went  to  enlist  the  very  day  the  wire  come, 
60  there's  a  place'll  go  short-handed.  Jim  told  George 
he'd  belt  him,  big  an'  all  as  he  is,  if  he  dared  to  go 
before  harvest,  so  there  you  are." 

Her  pleasant  voice  rolled  on,  with  its  small-beer  of 
news.  Margaret's  face  wore  a  tender  smile,  as  she 
listened  to  the  chatter,  which,  inconsequential  as  it  was, 
revealed  the  fact  that  the  country  lad  was  as  forward  in 


252        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEAIENT 

offering  his  life  as  his  town  prototype.  She  visualized 
a  reservoir  of  manhood,  into  which  were  being  poured 
streams  of  youth  from  north,  south,  east,  and  west. 
The  drama  of  one  of  her  stories  struck  Philip,  and  his 
eyes  shone, 

*'That  was  a  funny  caper  at  Gheringadar,"  said 
Polly,  and  laughed  reminiscently, 

''What  was  that?"  asked  Arthur. 

**It'll  be  something  for  you  to  tell  the  King,  when 
you  get  home,"  she  said.  "Some  fellows — we  know 
'em  well,  an'  Jim's  laid  one  of  'em  over  his  knee  for 
takin'  their  dogs  among  our  sheep,  Jenkins  the  name 
was" — she  gave  Arthur  the  information  impressively, 
for  possible  transmission  to  His  Majesty — ''they  got 
the  idea  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  enlist,  and  they 
asked  a  few  o'  their  pals  if  they  was  on.  You  know 
what  boys  are.  A  few  of  'em  got  together  and  they 
hatched  the  rummiest  scheme.  They  got  fifty  fellers 
in  Gheringadar  alone,  and  they  all  humped  their  blueys 
and  tramped  to  the  next  place — Gindara.  One  of  the 
Jenkins  boys  hops  on  to  an  old  wagon  near  the  market 
an'  invites  all  the  chaps  who  want  to  enlist  to  join  'em, 
as  they  was  marchin'  right  to  Sydney,  hundreds  o'  miles 
away. 

"They's  no  stoppin'  them  fool  boys  when  they  get 
a  mad  idea.  Off  they  go,  with  twenty  more  Gindara 
boys,  givin'  'em  no  more  time  than  to  catch  up  a  bite 
an'  kiss  their  Mas,  an'  they  play  the  same  trick  at 
Carstairs.  Then  folks  began  to  get  wind  of  it,  an* 
come  out  to  meet  'em.  They're  at  Moy  Moy  when  I  left 
yesterday,  an'  a  hundred  mile  to  go,  an'  they  got  six 
hundred  chaps  singin'  along  the  roads.  Each  town  they 
come  to,  they  find  the  people  ready  with  food  for  'em, 
an'  the  lads  all  set  for  to  join  'em.  Mad!  They're 
a  crazy  lot." 

Philip  turned  with  shining  eyes  to  Arthur. 

**The  Germans  will  have  their  work  cut  out  to  beat 
chaps  like  that,"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  absolute! 3', "  agreed  Arthur,  warmly.  "By 
Jove,    I   must   tell   the   G.G.    that,   Mrs. — er — Wister. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^53 

And  I'm  pretty  sure  he'll  think  it  worth  while  to  tell 
the  King.  My  hat!  How  absolutely  ripping !  I'll  tell 
you  what,  Phil,  I'm  glad  I've  got  fellows  like  that  to 
train." 

**But  what  a  crazy  thing  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Wister. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"Here  is  my  heart,  my  soul,  my  mind — the  only  life  I  Icnow— 
I  cannot  leave  it  all  behind.     Command  me  not  to  go!" 

— TuE  Centurion's  Sono 

"He  mv^t  go — go — go  away  from  here! 
On  the  other  side  the  world  he's  overdue. 
'Send  your  road  is  clear  before  you  when  the  old 
Spring-fret  comes  o'er  you 
And  the  Bed  Gods  call  for  you!" 

— The  Feet  of  the  Young  Men 

THE  new  play  was  finished  in  three  weeks,  but 
at  a  cost.  Three  weeks  of  unresting  labor,  so 
absorbing  that  even  the  din  of  war  preparations 
hardly  interrupted  it;  so  tense  that  sleep  was,  for  the 
most  part,  impossible  amidst  the  riot  of  ideas  that 
clamored  to  be  reduced  to  something  like  kempt  order 
before  morning. 

Philip  wrote  at  white  heat,  under  a  painful  stress  of 
feeling,  and  far  into  the  night  Margaret  heard  his 
typewriter  going.  The  effect  naturally  revealed  itself 
in  jangled  nerves.  Preoccupation  would  suddenly 
change  to  nervous  temper.  Margaret  words  had  no 
meaning  for  him,  presenting  themselves  to  his  over- 
wearied mind  as  fresh  dialogue  that  had  to  be  typed; 
the  infernal  clicking  of  the  ghostly  tj^ewriter  keys 
would  beat  upon  his  ear  for  endless,  wakeful  hours. 

Peter  had  come  one  day,  big  and  healthy,  and  proud 
of  his  corporal's  stripes.  Margaret  was  looking  worn 
and  anxious.  In  the  study  a  ceaseless  * '  clickety-click " 
proclaimed  that  Philip  was  not  on  view  to  visitors.  As 
she  looked  at  Peter's  cheerful,  sensible  face,  a  great 
witsfulness   seized   her.      She   thought   of    that   far-off 

264 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^55 

house  in  Contentment  Road,  about  which  she  had  boasted 
to  Peter.     The  thought  struck  him  at  the  same  time. 

* '  You  're  not  happy,  Margaret, ' '  he  accused.  ' '  You  're 
breaking  Rule  One.  Do  you  remember?  The  sun 
must  always  shine  in  Contentment  Road." 

"Dear  old  Peter!  Fancy  you  thinking  of  that. 
How  young  I  was!" 

"It's  still  Contentment  Road,"  he  reminded  her. 

"Yes,  but  Number  Two,"  she  said. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  he  asked. 

"It's  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,"  she  told  him. 
"The  sun  doesn't  reach  it  till  the  afternoon.  It's  only 
a  matter  of  a  little  waiting." 

She  smiled  at  him  bravely,  but  he  did  not  smile  in 
return. 

* '  The  War  is  going  to  make  a  lot  of  difference  to  that 
Road,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  we're  fools  to  think  it's 
going  to  hit  others,  and  miss  us.  Phil  is  as  clever  as 
he  can  stick,  and  he'll  probably  be  made  to  take  a  staff 
job,  where  they  can  use  his  brains.  He'll  hate  it,  but 
it'll  keep  him  safe." 

"He's  got  to  take  his  chance  with  the  others,  Peter," 
she  said.  It  wasn't  the  war  she  was  worrying  about 
just  then.  It  was  the  realization  that  when  her  husband 
commenced  his  periodic  climbing,  his  eyes  were  for  the 
peak  alone.  His  impedimenta  were  abandoned;  and 
she  was  part  of  the  impedimenta.  She  must  learn  to 
efface  herself  at  those  times;  everything  else  was  an 
intrusion.  Not  for  her,  even,  the  negative  joy  of  com- 
forting and  succoring  on  the  hard  way.  Only  when  he 
slipped  in  an  occasional  crevasse  did  he  acknowledge 
any  need  for  assistance.  He  was  very  near  a  big 
crevasse  at  that  moment. 

He  was  in  splendid,  receptive  condition  for  wander- 
ing bacteria.  They  responded  enthusiastically  to  the 
choice  of  a  battle-ground,  and  trouped  in  countless  mil- 
lions to  the  assault.  On  a  Saturday  night  he  wrote 
"Finis"  to  the  play,  and  posted  it  with  his  own  hand 
to  Field.  On  Sunday  he  was  struggling  hard  to  pre- 
vent a  similar  inscription  being  scored  across  himself. 


256        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEIMENT 

Virulent  influenza,  Dr.  Payne  called  it,  but  menin- 
gitis was  abroad,  carried  from  the  crowded  camps,  and 
there  were  some  tough  days,  and  stubborn  nights  before 
the  devoted  Pa;yTie,  who  had  hardily  left  him,  was 
satisfied  that  he  w^ould  escape. 

"He'll  do,"  he  pronounced  at  last,  "but  it  was  tough 
sledding.     A  matter  of  nursing  from  now  on." 

For  three  weeks  longer  Philip  was  spoiled  and 
cosseted  by  a  trained  nurse  and  Margaret,  who  com- 
pleted the  job  of  hauling  him  out  of  the  crevasse.  Peter 
came,  when  he  could  manage  leave,  and  told  Philip  how 
splendidly  Arthur  Lee  was  knocking  his  little  lot  into 
shape. 

"They  laughed  at  him  as  an  'English  Johnny'  for 
a  while,"  he  said,  "but  their  hats  are  off  to  him  now. 
They  even  salute  him.  He  knows  his  job,  you  see ;  that's 
why  the  chaps  have  taken  such  a  shine  to  him." 

Peter  w-as  quite  happy  in  camp,  attached  to  a  public 
school  corps,  which  tented  and  messed  together.  He 
enthused  Philip  by  mentioning  a  score  of  names  of 
friends  and  acquaintances  who  had  gone  into  camp. 

"It's  funny  to  see  Johnny  Harper  taking  orders  from 
his  chauffeur,"  he  laughed;  "but  Johnny's  got  into  it 
wonderfully  quickly.  His  pater,  old  Judge  Harper,  was 
out  in  Camp  last  Sunday,  with  a  mob  of  society  people, 
and  Johnny  had  to  come  and  ask  leave  of  the  shover  to 
go  outside  camp  bounds  with  them  to  the  station." 

"I'll  be  there  as  soon  as  they  let  me  up,"  said  Philip. 
"I'm  free  now.    Field's  got  his  play." 

Field  realized  that  he  had,  indeed,  "got  his  play." 
He  read  it,  wath  careless  interest  for  a  few  minutes; 
then,  as  he  got  past  the  exposition,  his  eyes  became  fixed, 
and  his  mouth  tense.  It  was  the  real  thing — alive, 
throbbing  with  humanity.  This  man  acted  so,  not  to 
make  a  "big"  situation,  but  because  his  nature  drove 
him  just  in  that  direction.  With  a  tremendous  relief 
M.J,  noted  tlie  presence  of  those  important  viscera, 
the  lack  of  which  had  condemned  the  previous  offering 
of  Philip. 

He  had  telephoned  Margaret,  asking  when  he  couW 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        257 

come  out  and  see  her  husband,  only  to  learn  that  he  was 
battling  for  life.  Then,  three  weeks  later,  she  had 
bidden  him  come.    He  taxied  out  immediately. 

His  breezy,  coarse,  friendly  personality  was  a  tonic 
in  the  room.  Philip's  feebleness,  so  noticeable  a  mo- 
ment before,  seemed  vitalized  by  his  entrance.  He  bright- 
ened to  a  smile,  and  his  voice  grew  stronger.  Field 
wasted  no  time  on  condolences  or  small-talk.  He  seated 
himself  on  the  bed,  and  plunged  into  his  business. 

"Well,  young  feller,  me  lad,  you've  delivered  the 
goods  this  time,"  he  announced,  **and  I  wouldn't  sell 
my  half-share  for  three  times  what  it  cost  me.  Only 
thing  that  worries  me  is  the  title — 'Game  and  Eubber' — 
dam'  silly  title.    We  must  change  that. 

*'I  like  the  title,"  insisted  Philip. 

"But  the  public  won't  know  what  it  means  from  a 
bar  of  soap,"  objected  Field. 

*'The  public's  not  such  a  fool  as  you  and  Amanda 
and  I  thought  it  was,  M.  J., ' '  said  Philip. 

Field  chuckled  reminiscently. 

**I  deserved  that,  but,  for  God's  sake,  don't  rub  it 
in,"  he  begged. 

Margaret  came  in,   and  Field  jumped   off  the  bed. 

"We  were  discussing  the  title  of  the  new  play,  Mrs. 
Lee,"  he  said.  "I  don't  like  it,  though  the  piece  will 
be  immense." 

"Oh,  how  splendid!"  she  exclaimed.  Philip  already 
looked  more  like  himself.  She  sat  beside  him,  and  he 
reached  out  for  her  hand.  "Only,  I  can't  express  an 
opinion  on  the  title,  because  I  haven't  heard  what  it  is." 

Not  an  atom  of  reproach  was  in  her  voice,  and  she 
smiled  at  Philip  serenely. 

"The  close  hound!"  observed  Field,  with  emphasis. 
"And  why?" 

"Superstition,  partly,"  explained  Philip,  but  a  dull 
red  mounted  and  stained  neck  and  brow.  Suddenly 
this  trivial  incident  had  shown  him  how  far  out  of  his 
thoughts  he  had  shut  his  wife.  "And  then  I  had  an 
idea  that  was  new  to  me.  I  concentrated  on  it.  Amanda 
and  her  successor  were  almost  the  result  of  collaboration. 


258        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

I  got  the  idea  that  interplay  of  minds  on  original  work 
is  a  blunder,  I — I — suppose  I  was  anxious  that  only 
you  and  I,  M.J.,  should  know  the  extent  of  a  third 
failure." 

It  was  only  part  of  the  explanation,  and  he  knew  it. 
She  knew  it,  too,  but  she  gave  the  thin  hand  a  pat. 

**I  really  believe  that  clumsy  old  Peter  and  I  bullied 
you  into  errors  of  judgment  over  Amanda,"  she 
admitted. 

"I'll  go  bail  there's  no  failure  about  this,"  Field 
declared,  warmly — "all  but  the  title,  that  is.  Can't 
honestly  say  I'm  in  love  with  that.  It  rouses  expecta- 
tions of  a  farce.  'Game  and  Kubber!'  Why  not — 
'Three  of  a  Kind,'  'A  Pair  of  Queens,'  'All  But,'  'A 
Full  House?'    All  pure  farce,  my  dear  ass,  pure  farce." 

Philip  laughed  at  his  vehemence. 

"If  my  'Game  and  Rubber'  gives  you  *A  Full 
House,'  "  he  gibed,  "it  will  be  a  darned  profitable 
game." 

Field  shouted. 

"I'll  guarantee  the  full  house,"  he  promised,  em- 
phatically. "We'll  pack  'em  in.  By  James,  we'll  make 
that  title  do,  after  all,  dear  boy.  Can't  you  see  the 
posters  we'll  get  out?"  He  waved  a  hand  largely  round 
an  imaginary  picture.  "The  posters!  Get  this  idea. 
A  card-table,  with  four  gamblers  seated  round  it — 
greedy,  excited  faces — grabbers,  every  man  jack  of  'em — 
the  bodies  in  shadow,  but  a  strong  light  on  their  faces — 
money  on  the  table,  the  winners  reaching  for  the  shekels 
in  triumph,  the  losers  with  a  hang-dog  look — game  and 
rubber.    Do  you  get  it?" 

Margaret  winked  at  Philip.  The  excitement  of  an 
advertising  scheme  had  gripped  Field.  He  actually  saw 
the  poster  he  was  describing. 

"But  it  doesn't  come  into  the  play,  M.J.  My  game 
is  merely  sj^mbolical. " 

"What  the— what  does  that  matter?"  shouted  Field. 
"This  is  symbolical,  too,  my  dear  idiot,  and  it  will  bring 
'era  into  the  theatre.  If  Australians  aren't  gamblers, 
they're  nothing.     It's  in  us  all.     We'll  win  out  over 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        259 

this."  He  paused  for  a  few  seconds,  his  lips  pursed,  and 
his  eyes  half  closed.  His  chair  was  tilted  back  on  its 
legs.  He  came  to  the  perpendicular  with  a  thud,  and 
banged  one  excited  fist  into  the  other, 

"We've  got  to  do  it  right,  laddie,"  he  said.  "And 
what  does  right  mean,  I  ask  you.  Does  it  mean  a 
premiere  in  Australia,  with  a  maximum  of  a  thirteen 
weeks' season?  By  James  it  doesn't.  It  ought  to  mean 
London,  but  unless  I'm  a  fool  there'll  be  nothing  but 
revivals  over  there  for  a  long  time.  So  it's  got  to  mean 
the  little  village  on  the  Hudson — ^yes,  that's  the  ticket. 
New  York.  They  understand  these  things  in  New  York, 
and  back  it  will  come  with  a  whale  of  an  ad.  tied  to 
it,  and  half  a  dozen  companies  clamoring  to  put  it  on 
the  road.  Then  London,  if  you  like,  when  the  Kaiser's 
dead  and  damned.     What  about  that  for  a  program?" 

His  eyes  glistened. 

"I'll  have  to  leave  it  all  to  you,  M.J.,"  said  Philip. 
"You  see  I'm  going  into  camp  as  soon  as  I'm  up." 

Field  looked  at  the  white,  thin,  eager  face,  and  from 
it  he  glanced  at  Margaret,  who  shook  her  head  silently. 

"You'll  have  to  pick  up  a  bit  first,"  he  said.  "Before 
you  can  start  out  on  your  campaign,  we'll  have  mine 
all  planned  out.  Well,  time's  up.  I'll  have  to  push  on. 
Take  care  of  yourself,  and  keep  sober." 

With  a  rush  and  a  whirl  he  was  gone. 

Philip  found  that  all  his  calculations  had  to  be  revised. 
Paj^ne  first  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  offering  himself, 
in  his  weak  state,  but  his  patient  was  obstinate.  He 
went,  and  was  rejected  without  anything  more  than 
a  preliminary  examination. 

The  medical  examiner  was  big,  bluff  Tom  Hammond, 
a  brother  Savage. 

"You're  out  of  this  for  six  months  or  a  year,  Phil," 
he  said,  bluntly.  "Your  heart  is  none  too  good,  and 
you're  just  rocking  on  your  pins.  Take  a  long  holiday, 
and  cut  and  come  again." 

"Just  what  I  told  you,  only  jou  had  to  make  an 
exhibition  of  yourself  before  you  would  believe  it," 
growled  Payne.    "Do  you  think  you  can  cut  such  didoes 


260        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

as  you  have  been  doing  and  laugh  it  off  in  a  week  or 
two?" 

Field  heard  of  the  rejection  with  frank  pleasure. 

"I  told  you  they  didn't  want  you  married  hounds  yet. 
Time  enough  when  they  call  for  you.  Now  perhaps 
you'll  listen  to  a  plan  of  mine." 

''What  it  is?"  asked  Philip. 

"It's  this.  To  send  your  play  across  to  New  York 
and  expect  an  agent  to  put  it  across  would  be  fooling 
with  the  proposition.  The  agent  would  write  a  nice 
letter,  and  that  would  be  the  last  we  would  hear  of 
the  play.  A  man  has  to  look  for  an  opening  and  insert 
himself  in  it,  before  another  hound  grabs  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

*'But  you've  got  friends  there — fellows  in  your  own 
line.  Surely  they  'd  read  it,  and  if  it  were  good  enough 
they'd  put  it  on,"  suggested  Philip. 

''You're  cold,  old  chap,  dead  cold,"  grinned  Field, 
"Every  last  one  of  my  friends  over  there  is  playing 
his  own  hand.  A  fat  lot  of  notice  they'd  take  of  a  bundle 
of  manuscript  that  fell  out  of  the  mail  on  to  their  tables. 
They  get  about  two  million  things  to  read  in  the  course 
of  a  twelve  month.    No  chance.    But  there  is  a  way." 

"Well?"  prompted  Philip. 

"Take  it  over  yourself.  Get  into  the  swim.  I  can 
give  you  letters  of  introduction.  Join  the  Lambs'  Club. 
Get  to  know  those  fellows  socially.  Use  your  personality. 
Better  still,  make  Mrs.  Lee  use  hers — and  then,  when 
you've  got  'em  warmed  up — spring  it  on  the  cows.  It 
only  wants  a  reading.  Not  a  cold,  blasted,  perfunctory 
reading,  such  as  an  agent  would  give  'em,  but  one  that's 
got  'em  interested  from  the  jump.  If  that  don't  land 
you  a  contract,  nothing  will,  and  M.J.  will  have  to  race 
over  there  and  take  a  theatre  himself." 

Philip  was  staggered  by  the  proposition. 

"I  can't  go  wandering  about,  while  Peter  and  the 
rest  are  fighting  for  me,"  he  objected. 

"Just  as  well  wander  over  there  as  barge  about  here, 
doing  nothing  and  eating  your  heart  out,"  countered 
Field. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        661 

^'Besides,  it's  going'  to  cost  money,  and  I've  just  about 
come  to  the  end  of  your  check  for  the  half-interest. ' ' 

"Go  and  get  your  head  read,"  Field  advised  him, 
with  vulgar  emphasis.  "We're  partners.  You've  sup- 
plied a  bobby-dazzler  of  a  play;  I'm  going  to  put  up 
reasonable  funds  to  bring  this  off." 

"But  3^ou  made  the  writing  of  it  possible  in  the  first 
place,  M.J,,"  said  Philip.  "That's  all  anyone  could 
possibly  expect — more  than  anyone  could  expect.  If 
I  can't  market  it,  that's  my  look-out." 

Field  looked  up  at  him,  his  cigar  tilted  quizzically, 
and  one  eye  shut. 

"Pardon  me,  friend,  it's  my  look-out,"  he  said.  "The 
marketing  of  stuff  like  this  is  an  art  in  itself.  If  I 
trusted  to  you  alone,  a  fat  chance  I'd  ever  have  of 
bringing  home  the  bacon.  I  'm  protecting  my  own  inter- 
ests, and  as  the  sleeping  partner  I'm  well  going 

to  tell  you  you've  got  to  do  your  share,  and  sell  the 
dam'  thing.     Is  that  clear?" 

* '  Your  goodness  is ;  all  the  rest  is  humbug.  Did  any- 
one tell  you  I  ought  to  have  a  long  holiday  ? "  he  asked, 
curiously. 

"Lord,  no,  and  I  hope  no  one  does,  for  you're  not 
going  to  get  much  of  a  holiday  out  of  this.  As  soon 
as  you  strike  New  York,  you'll  have  to  be  into  it.  This 
is  just  the  time,  too,  with  half  the  theatres  shut  down 
till  October,  and  managers  taking  stock.  Whip  over 
as  soon  as  you  can,  and  you  might  land  your  man  for 
the  coming  season.  Make  your  arrangements  and  leave 
the  bills  to  me.  Only  hurry  up.  And  for  God's  sake 
clear  out,  I'm  beastly  busy  this  morning." 

Once  more  Field  had  characteristically  shown  his  good 
heart. 

"You're  a  brick,  M.J.,"  Philip  told  him,  lamely 
enough. 

"I'll  throw  myself  at  you  if  you  don't  clear  out  of 
this,"  replied  Field.  "The  'Niagara's'  a  good  boat. 
The  skipper's  a  pal  of  mine,  too.  You'll  like  him. 
Get  out." 

Margaret  was  not  particularly  pleased  at  the  idea  of 


262         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

the  United  States  jaunt.  Her  own  country  held  her 
by  an  unusually  strong  thread  at  this  juncture.  Like 
most  of  her  class,  she  had  identified  herself  with  com- 
mittees of  one  sort  or  another,  all  having  for  object  the 
comfort  of  the  new  troops.  It  seemed  like  running  away 
from  responsibility.     Peter  laughed  at  her. 

*'Phil  can't  go  over  to  Egypt  yet  awhile.  He's  got 
to  go  on  with  his  job,  as  an  alternative.  He  can't  live 
on  air.  He's  written  a  corking  play  apparently,  and 
he's  simply  bound  to  go  to  the  best  market  and  sell  it. 
How  is  that  running  away  from  responsibility?  In 
my  opinion  it's  taking  up  his  main  responsibility — 
looking  after  his  family,  and  the  humble  necessary 
larder." 

His  clear,  downright  common  sense  comforted  her. 
"What  a  dependable  person  he  was!  How  she  would 
hate  leaving  him! 

She  flushed  scarlet.  "Why  fool  herself  any  longer  in 
this  way?  "Why  not  admit  that  it  was  leaving  Peter 
that  filled  her  with  foreboding?  For  her  Australia 
meant  Peter,  reliable,  massive,  comforting.  No  further 
word  she  uttered  in  objection.  Rapidly  she  got  ready, 
even  seemed  eager  to  go.  The  truth  was  she  was  afraid 
of  herself.  This  was  a  new  personality  she  was  meeting, 
not  the  old  Margaret  at  all. 

On  their  last  Sunday  she  and  Philip  drove  out  to 
the  camp  at  Broadmeadows,  tucked  away  in  the  tiny, 
uncomfortable  car  that  Dr.  Payne  tolerated.  It  was  to 
be  a  final  visit,  for  they  were  to  leave  for  Sydney  on 
the  next  day. 

They  had  a  jolly  tea ;  Peter  made  an  excuse  of  a  duty 
he  invented,  to  save  Sir  Arthur  the  embarrassment  of 
not  asking  him  to  sit  down,  and  came  back  just  as  they 
had  finished.  Arthur  was  explaining  a  technical  point 
to  Philip,  and  Payne  was  with  the  batman,  looking  at  the 
horse-lines. 

Peter  and  Margaret  were  alone.  She  rose  from  her 
seat,  and  walked  to  the  tent-door,  looking  wistfully  over 
the  huge  field  of  giant  mushrooms.  Peter  joined  her, 
and  almost  mechanically  they  strolled  outside. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        S63 

*'You'll  have  a  wonderful  time,"  lie  ventured,  as  she 
did  not  speak. 

*'I'm  frightened,  Peter.  It's  such  a  lonely  prospect. 
Not  a  single  mind  in  the  whole  of  New  York  that  reaches 
out  to  mine,  and  I  'm  such  a  terrible  creature  for  holding 
out  friendly  hands." 

"Except  Phil's,"  he  reminded. 

"Of  coui-se.  Except  Phil's  ....  Peter,  it  seems 
such  an  idiotic  thing  to  tell  you  to  take  care  of  yourself, 
but  don't  you  know  what  I  mean?  Recklessness — 
audacity;  I — I  don't  want  you  to  come  back  with  a 
string  of  medals.  I'll  take  the  bravery  for  granted. 
But — just — come — back. ' ' 

"Why,  Margaret!"  he  said,  gently,  for  she  was  cry- 
ing, unashamed.  "Of  course  I'm  coming  back.  I  know 
how  you  feel.  All  the  women  who  come  here  are  the 
same.  One  last  Sunday  stopped  and  shook  hands  with 
a  fellow  she  didn't  know  from  Adam,  and  burst  into 
tears.  It's  just  tension.  It's  a  big  job  we're  on,  and 
there's  a  sort  of  national  hysteria.  Funny  thing  is  the 
soldier  feels  it  least  of  all.  Don't  know  it  is  so  funny 
after  all.  He  has  a  definite  job.  The  women  have  only 
to  wait." 

He  made  haste  to  shift  the  cause  of  her  breakdown 
to  a  general  feeling,  with  a  delicacy  that  was  natural 
to  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  upset  by  having  to  go  away,"  she  made 
excuse. 

"Only  another  house  in  the  same  old  road,"  he 
smiled.  "Get  into  Number  Three,  on  the  sunny  morn- 
ing side.  I'm  looking  forward  to  your  letters  tremen- 
dously." 

"We'll  be  such  thousands  of  miles  away,"  she  said, 
*'and  letters  are  stupid  things.  .  .  .  We'll  have  to  be 
getting  back." 

They  were  behind  the  last  row  of  tents,  and  in  the 
distance  they  could  see  little  groups  of  people,  coming 
and  going.     For  practical  purposes  they  were  alone. 

Margaret  turned  to  him  on  an  impulse. 

"I'm  going  to  say  good-bye  to  you  here,   Peter,'* 


264.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

she  said.  *'It's  a  rather  special  occasion,  and  it's  for  a 
very  long  time."  Her  voice  grew  suddenly  husky,  with 
an  unwonted  timidity.  "Peter,  I  would  rather  like 
you  to — kiss  me,  just  for  once." 

Peter's  face  was  turned  to  her,  with  a  look  of  adora- 
tion in  his  eyes.    His  hands  went  out ;  then  he  drew  back. 

**I  don't  think  I— I— could  stand  that,  Margaret," 
he  said,  and  his  face  turned  an  ugly  red. 

"Peter!"  she  just  whispered,  and  turned  away,  so 
that  his  loyalty  might  not  read  her  shamed  heart. 


End  of  Book  III. 


BOOK  IV.— ASHES 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 

Where  the  single  lamplight  gleams, 
Know  ye  the  road  to  the  Merciful  Town, 

That  is  hard   iy  the  Sea  of  Dreams? 
Where   the  poor  muy   lay   their  wrongs   away, 

And  the  sich  may  forget  to  weep? 
But  we — pity  us!     Oh,  pity  us! 

We  waTceful;  ah,  pity  us! 
We  must  go  hack  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep!" 

— The  City  or  Sleep 

THE  truest  way  of  judging  one's  country  is  to 
leave  it.  An  exile  sees  it  in  the  round,  so  to  speak. 
Asperities  soften ;  small  prejudices  disappear.  At 
home  one's  particular  section  of  society  looms  gigantic 
and  obscures  the  rest.  A  gnat  on  a  telescope  will  destroy 
the  view  of  a  mountain. 

It  was  not  the  size  of  the  city  that  daunted  her,  so 
much  as  its  noise — ^the  clangor  and  clatter  of  unsleep- 
ing restlessness.  Her  spirit  shrank  from  its  echoing 
roar,  as  flesh  shrinks  from  hot  iron.  Street  cars  on  the 
roadways,  railways,  metallically  whining  overhead  made 
conversation  impossible,  until  tympana  mercifully  ac- 
commodated themselves  to  endure  what  could  not  be 
cured.  In  the  stores,  she  would  pause  in  her  speech, 
until  the  grinding  rush  of  an  Elevated  train  should 
cease,  only  to  find  that  another  was  shrieking  past,  bound 
in  the  opposite  direction,  and  this  at  minute  intervals. 
Her  distress  corrugations  of  brow  drew  discreet  smiles 
from  the  salesladies. 

266 


266        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"With  Philip  it  was  otherwise.  His  interest  was  too 
great  for  critical  analysis.  Besides,  London,  quiet 
though  it  was  in  comparison,  had  inured  him  to  big 
cities. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?"  he  laughed.  "It's  only 
Sydney,  magnified  ten  diameters." 

"It's  an  endless  moving-picture,  without  its  blessed 
quiet,"  she  returned;  "Babel,  concentrated  and  inten- 
sified through  a  giant  megaphone!  Do  they  never  sleep, 
these  people?  I  was  awake  till  four  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing, and  at  six  the  din  simply  wrenched  me  from  a 
dream  that  we  were  home  again.  Couldn't  we  get  a  room 
on  a  quieter  side  of  the  hotel?" 

"There  is  no  quiet  side,"  he  said;  "you'll  get  used 
to  it." 

"I  hope  I  won't  have  time  to,"  she  said.  "Oh,  Phil, 
surely  it  won't  take  long  to  launch  the  play." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  then  came  over 
and  put  his  arms  around  her.  He  couldn't  understand 
why  the  excitement  of  the  venture  that  meant  so  much 
to  them  both  should  not  have  seized  her  as  well.  The 
joy  of  life  was  running  strong  in  him.  Though  still 
far  from  robust,  it  lent  a  flash  to  his  eye  and  a  timbre 
to  his  voice  that  gave  him  all  his  old  magnetism.  She 
settled  herself  more  comfortably  in  his  arms,  and  forgot 
herself  in  listening  to  his  enthusiasm.  He  sat  down  with 
her,  and  made  love  to  her  prettily. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that  I  should  have  come 
alone,  but  I  won't  say  it,  because  I  couldn't  do  without 
you,  Margaret.  But  I  love  being  here.  New  York  has 
got  into  my  blood.  Sleep!  Who  wants  to  sleep? 
There's  too  much  to  see  to  waste  time  in  bed.  If  you 
could  only  enjoy  it  as  I  do!  It  spoils  it  for  me,  when 
I  see  you  unhappy." 

"Poor  old  darling,  I  won't  be  a  wet  blanket  any 
longer.    I'm  just  homesick,  that's  all." 

And  thereafter  she  hid  her  feelings.  Not  for  worlds 
would  she  have  let  him  know  that  the  city  filled  her 
with  a  queer  apprehension.  Her  mind  seemed  dulled, 
as  her  senses  sharpened;  her  brain  an  empty  chamber 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^67 

echoing  with  discordant  noises;  but  her  nerves,  newly- 
discovered,  abnormally  acute. 

Philip  seemed  to  find  rest  in  movement.  By  her  own 
desire  he  left  Margaret  in  the  hotel,  and  wandered  forth 
into  the  confusion.  The  lane  of  light  that  runs  from 
the  Battery  to  the  Bronx,  like  a  curving  necklace  of 
brilliants  drew  him  irresistibly.  The  flashing  lights  of 
the  theatre  district  lit  a  flame  in  his  soul.  Here  was  his 
own  battle-ground. 

He  watched  the  faces  of  the  people,  as  they  poured 
endlessly  from  the  Subway  in  Times  Square,  or  pushed 
purposefuU}^  through  revolving  doors  of  immense  office 
buildings.  He  told  himself  that  between  him  and  them 
existed  a  relation  of  enormous  significance.  Possibly 
in  no  similar  place  will  one  see  more  divergent  types 
than  in  that  city  and  at  that  corner.  Yet  two  thousand 
of  these  men  and  women,  taken  at  absolute  random,  were 
to  sit  as  a  jury  and  determine  whether  he,  Philip  Lee, 
were  to  go  on  writing  'plays  or  not.  That  fellow  who 
looked  like  a  gunman  out  of  a  moving-picture,  that 
fat  faced  vulgarian  who  was  licking  from  his  lips  the 
last,  sweet  savor  of  a  departed  cocktail,  that  exquisitely 
dressed  woman,  with  a  bored,  vapid  face,  about  to  enter 
a  superb  automobile  at  the  Astor  Hotel  opposite,  might 
quite  easily  be  instrumental  in  ruining  his  future  by  a 
scornful  turning  down  of  thumbs. 

He  wondered  afresh  at  the  delusion  of  the  world  which 
had  thoughtlessly  decided  to  regard  the  snap  judgment 
of  a  few  hundred  semi-educated  hedonist  habitues  of  The 
Great  White  "Way  as  the  voice  of  Olympus,  to  mar  or 
to  make. 

Then,  tired  and  strained,  he  found  his  way  back  to 
Margaret,  and  in  fitful  sleep  dreamed  that  he  had 
conquered  New  York. 

It  was  a  fortnight  before  he  presented  Field's  letter. 

Hugo  Voynich  was  one  of  those  Europeans  whom 
New  York  captured  young,  and  who  grew  up  to  capture 
New  York  in  their  turn.  Self-educated,  in  the  marvel- 
ous way  of  his  kind,  who  begin  by  ignorance  of  the 
language  of  the  people  they  conquer  and  place  under 


268        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

tribute,  but  end  by  bettering  the  instruction  they  receive, 
Voynich  possessed  a  ferocious  greed,  masked  by  a  super- 
ficial good  humor.  Beneath  this  concealing  cover,  his 
brain  cast  its  reckonings.  He  smiled  at  you,  joked  with 
you,  lunched  with  you,  all  the  while  weighing  you.  If 
you  could  be  of  use  to  him,  he  purchased  your  brain 
at  his  own  price.  If  you  were  wanting,  he  discarded 
you,  without  even  the  solatium  of  a  reason.  Men  he 
dined  with  yesterday,  he  passed  blindly  to-day.  They 
had  lost  their  sole  reason  for  surviving  in  his  calculating 
memory. 

Not  an  attractive  personality  was  Voynich,  either  in 
character  or  in  his  person,  which  was  obese,  small  and 
unclean.  Philip  disliked  him  at  first  sight.  But  the 
theatrical  writ  of  Hugo  Voynich  ran  in  four  big  cities, 
and  seven  road  companies  were  making  fortunes  for  him 
in  the  provinces. 

Not  a  word  said  Philip  of  the  play.  Field  had  advised 
him  not  to  show  his  hand  too  soon.  He  was  an  Australian 
traveling,  and  Field  threw  him  on  Voynich 's  mercy. 
He  was  to  see  New  York,  and  was  particularly  interested 
in  the  theatre. 

Hospitality  in  America  is  as  great  a  tradition  as  in 
Australia.  It  operates  even  more  largely  and  certainly 
more  lavishly.  Two  minutes  after  an  introduction  in  a 
hotel,  you  are  quite  likely  to  be  invited  for  lunch;  the 
afternoon  will  bring  you  an  offer  of  membership  of  a 
club,  and  a  dinner  in  the  evening  will  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  refuse  or  accept  a  week-end  at  a  country 
house.  The  American  heart  is  never  so  full  of  friendli- 
ness that  it  cannot  hold  a  drop  more. 

The  ostentation  of  the  low-class  Jew  moved  Voynich 
to  a  careless  prodigality  in  social  relations.  He  looked 
at  Philip^  reflected  for  smiling  seconds,  and  decided 
that  he  was  worth  a  dinner.  His  business  connection 
with  Field,  for  whom  he  found  vaudeville  attractions 
for  Australia,  would  stand  that. 

"Field  says  Mrs.  Lee  is  with  you.  You  must  bring 
her,  too,"  said  Voynich. 

He  spoke  in  a  guttural,  thick  voice,  whose  original 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        269 

native  accent  had  been  overlaid  by  the  inflections  of  the 
Lower  East  Side. 

"Er — that's  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Voynich,"  said  Philip; 
*'but — I'm  afraid  my  wife  is  hardly — er — up  to  it." 

Voynich's  piggy  eyes  flashed. 

"Sick,  eh?  Oh,  that 's  a  pity.  No  hurry.  We'll  wait 
till  she's  better  again,"  he  replied,  imperturbably,  and 
Philip  had  a  feeling  that  the  shrewd  brain  had  under- 
stood the  shallow  excuse.  He  got  up.  The  magnate's 
manner  had  indicated  that  he  had  given  all  the  time 
he  could  spare.  The  visitor  felt  himself  dismissed.  He 
had  not  made  much  of  an  impression. 

At  the  door  he  was  recalled. 

"Hey,  Mr.  Lee,  "Wait  one  moment.  Maybe  the 
Madam  would  like  to  go  to  one  of  my  shows,  if  she's 
well  enough,"  He  scribbled  on  a  card.  "Take  that 
to  the  box-office  at  de  t'eatre,  an'  they  will  give  you  a 
box.  Forty-t'oid  Street."  Philip  took  the  card,  and 
thanked  VojTiich. 

That  night  they  went  and  were  shown  into  the  box. 
Margaret  loved  the  theatre,  and  had  been  glad  to  leave 
the  hotel  and  its  ornate  loneliness.  During  the  first 
interval,  the  door  opened,  and  Voynich  entered.  He 
was  in  evening  dress,  and  three  diamond  studs  made  too 
much  glory  in  his  shirt-front,  Philip  had  told  Mar- 
garet his  fear  that  the  interview  in  the  afternoon  had 
not  been  much  of  a  success.  She  smiled  her  sweetest 
smile,  and  resolved  to  ignore  everything  in  Hugo  Voy- 
nich but  his  power  to  help  Philip. 

Philip  watched  the  fat,  loose  face,  wreathed  in  com- 
plimentarj'-  smiles,  and  thought  how  far  a  man  must 
condescend  for  the  palms  of  success.  He  saw  Margaret's 
pure,  wide  brow  side  by  side  with  the  vicious,  false 
good  humor  of  the  host,  and  had  an  instant's  impulse 
to  thrust  VojTiich  on  one  side,  as  something  noisome, 
and  carry  his  wafe  off.  The  cost  of  achievement  may 
be  too  high.  But  the  curtain  went  up,  and  with  the 
continuance  of  the  play  came  the  quick  thought  that 
in  a  little  while  he  would  be  watching  his  own  work. 


270         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

if  he  could  play  liis  cards  right,  and  of  those  cards, 
the  chief  was  Voyiiich.  He  must  be  patient. 

"Your  charming  wife  is  better,"  Voynich  said,  as 
they  rose  after  the  curtain  fell,  *'and  she  will  dine  with 
me  to-morrow  night."  He  smiled.  There  was  malice 
in  the  grin,  Philip  could  have  sworn. 

*'We  are  both  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness,  Mr. 
VojTiich,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

Philip  met  "Wanda  Lara  the  following  evening  at 
Voynich 's  dinner. 

She  possessed  a  rare  type  of  beauty — the  face  of  a 
woman  who  has  suffered,  whom  life  has  beaten,  but  not 
to  her  knees,  a  fragile,  wan,  appealing  beauty.  You 
thought  of  bent  lilies  in  a  storm-swept  garden  when  you 
looked  at  her. 

With  her,  and  the  only  other  guest,  was  Acton  St. 
Ledger.  They  were  both  playing  in  "Benediction,"  in 
its  second  year  on  Broadway,  a  play  with  the  saintly 
flavor  which  at  the  psychological  moment  touches  the 
sentimental  heart  of  New  York,  and  dissolves  its  cal- 
luses in  tears  of  salt,  making  hardened  playgoers  sniffle 
and  think  of  far  away  mothers'  knees.  It  had  given 
rise  to  the  mat  on  its  first  appearance — "It  is  not  so 
much  a  premiere  as  a  revival." 

St.  Ledger  was  a  beauty  actor,  as  yet  unravished 
by  moving-pictures.  He  was  shallow-pated,  but  smart, 
big  but  flabby.  His  voice  caressed  women  but  disgusted 
men ;  a  fellow  in  whom  every  praise  has  to  be  qualified 
with  a  "but."  Women  called  him  "a  lovely  man," 
"a  darling,"  and  several  other  things  real  men  most 
assuredly  should  not  be. 

Philip  bowed  in  answer  to  Voynich 's  introduction  to 
Wanda,  and  straightened  himself  to  find  St.  Ledger's 
glance  upon  him.  It  surprised  him  by  its  causeless 
hos:tility;  he  surprised  himself  by  his  answering  flash. 

Philip  was  at  his  best.  He  sat  by  Wanda,  and  to  his 
astonishment  found  that  she  could  talk:  not  the  vapid 
exchange  of  current  gossip  and  newspaper  comment 
that  passes  for  conversation,  but  original,  witty,  satisfy- 
ing remarks,  that  enchained  his  interest. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        271 

She  loved  New  York,  and  told  him  some  little  known 
facts  about  it  that  transformed  it  from  a  hurry-scurry 
warren  of  scrambling  human  rabbits  to  a  dignified, 
stately  city  with  a  great  historical  significance.  Father 
Knickerbocker  came  to  life  and  stalked  along  the  quiet 
streets  of  his  own  Manhattan.  Her  musical  voice,  with 
its  racy  idiom,  charmed  his  ears,  and  he  exerted  all  hia 
own  charm  to  please  her. 

Voj^nich  broke  into  the  discussion.  The  table  was 
too  small  for  sustained  tete-a-tete  talk.  His  East  Side 
accent  grated  harshly  after  Wanda's  polished  phrase. 

''Noo  York's  the  finest  city  on  God's  Oirth,"  he  pro- 
nounced, with  a  finality  that  roused  all  the  critical 
faculties  in  Philip. 

* 'You're  a  traveler,  Mr.  Voynich?"  he  suggested. 
"I  suppose  you  see  them  all,  and  can  compare  them 
annually." 

"Me?  Travel?  I  never  move  away  from  the  ground 
between  Fifty-sixt'  and  T'oity-t'oid,"  he  said,  "except 
for  a  fly  over  de  river  to  a  roadhouse  now  and  again. 
No,  sir." 

"You  have  a  wonderful  city,  I  think,"  said  Philip; 
"but  it's  parvenu  and  provincial.  One  notices  that  at 
once." 

This  was  too  much  for  Voynich,  but  "Wanda  sprang 
to  the  rescue. 

"Parvenu!"     Her  voice  was  all  exclamation  marks. 

"Yes,  undoubtedly.  Your  magnificence  is  so  freshly 
acquired  that  the  city  overdresses  herself  to  astonish 
and  overwhelm.  What  is  that  but  the  mark  of  the  par- 
venu? It  has  its  attractions,  I  admit,  but  London  and 
Paris  are  sure  enough  of  themselves  to  take  themselves 
and  their  position  for  granted.  You  haven't  come  to 
that.  You  fling  up  ostentatious  palaces  one  day,  and 
pay  a  fortune  to  breakers  to  fling  them  down  the  next, 
in  order  to  put  up  something  that  will  impress,  even 
further." 

"Why  shouldn't  we?  We  can  afford  it,"  Wanda 
retorted. 


272        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"Exactly,"  lie  laughed,  ''You've  got  the  money. 
The  parvenu's  answer  pat." 

"But — provincial!"  she  challenged,  with  more  notes 
of  exclamation. 

"Yes,  provincial  as  well," 

"If  New  York  isn't  the  metropolis,  it's  nothing," 
she  said. 

"Metropolis  of  what?  It  sets  the  fashions,  I'll  admit; 
but  where  does  it  look  for  its  standards  even  for  clothes, 
not  to  say  its  art,  its  legal  system — oh,  everything  that 
makes  the  life  of  a  city?  Why,  to  Paris  and  London, 
to  be  sure.  Philidelphia  looks  to  New  York,  but  does 
Chicago?  New  York  ordinary  folk  ape  the  manners 
of  your  Four  Hundred,  who  are  not  in  the  Four  Hun- 
dred unless  they  have  more  or  less  faithfully  copied  the 
same  thing  from  London  and  Paris." 

"I  deny  it,"  she  cried,  indignantly. 

"Why  do  your  leading  tailors  advertise  'The  Real 
Bond  Street  Cut  for  Superior  Men,'  if  trade  hasn't 
told  them  that  Bond  Street  and  Savile  Eow  are  looked 
up  to  as  temples  of  the  Superior?  You're  a  big,  over- 
grown, conceited,  bullying,  toadying  copy-cat,  but  we 
can't  help  loving  you,  because  you're  so  young  and 
will  grow  out  of  it,"  laughed  Philip, 

"Listen  to  the  citizen  of  Wagga  Wagga  lecturing," 
crowed  Wanda,  taking  it  in  good  part.  "Who  regulates 
the  traffic  in  Main  Street  now?  Tom  Brodie  did  when 
I  was  there,  from  the  porch  of  the  hotel." 

She  laughed  musically  at  his  consternation. 

"And  were  you  ever  in  Australia?"  Margaret  asked. 

"I  was  born  in  Australia,"  she  said,  "and  went  back 
three  years  ago  for  auld  lang  syne.  Now  you  know  how 
very  amusing  you  are,  with  your  lectures  on  provincial- 
ism," she  told  Philip, 

"We're  provincials  together,"  he  insisted,  "only  we 
know  it,  and  you  don't," 

Voynich  got  up.    They  had  reached  the  liquor  stage. 

"Stay  where  you  are  a  moment,"  he  said.  "I'll 
call  up  and  see  if  they've  got  a  box  left.  I'd  like 
Mr,  Lee  to  see  you  act,  Wanda, ' ' 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^73 

"He  thinks  you've  been  calling  me  names,  Mr,  Lee," 
she  rippled,  as  Voynich  walked  away.  "Have  you  seen 
the  show?" 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  Margaret  looked  up.  St.  Ledger 
had  been  talking  in  the  low,  impressive  tone  he  kept 
for  women,  and  she  was  bored.  She  noted  Philip 's  keen, 
interested  look,  and  happy  smile,  and  was  pleased  that 
he  had  had  a  more  enjoyable  time  than  she  herself,  with 
St.  Ledger  making  thin,  anaemic  love  to  her. 

"Are  we  going  to  see  Miss  Lara  act,  Philip?"  she 
asked.    VojTiich  supplied  the  answer. 

' '  Come  on.  You  and  Acton  better  hurry,  "Wanda.  I'll 
bring  them  round  to  your  dressing-room  in  the  inter- 
mission." 

Then  began  a  night  which  Margaret  never  forgot. 
Voynich  had  hit  upon  the  idea  of  doing  the  thing  prop- 
erly, and  showing  these  guests  from  the  Antipodes  how 
Til  ole  Noo  York  did  things,  when  she  set  out  to  enjoy 
herself. 

After  seeing  "Benediction,"  they  were  hurried  off 
to  a  Midnight  Frolic  on  top  of  the  New  Amsterdam 
Theatre.  At  about  two  Margaret  rose  from  her  seat  at 
the  supper-table,  with  profound  thankfulness  that  she 
at  last  could  go  to  bed,  only  to  find  that  the  indefatigable 
Voynich  had  a  car  waiting  to  take  them  to  Chinatown 
and  a  Chop  Suey  supper  in  that  carefully  staged  quarter. 
But  even  then  release  did  not  come.  The  car  whirled 
them  up-town  once  more,  and  at  Jack's  they  met  a  crowd 
of  idiots  as  mad  as  they,  regaling  themselves  on  a  break- 
fast of  ham  and  eggs,  a  dish  that  had  suddenly  whirled 
into  fashion. 

Margaret  unashamedly  fell  asleep,  taking  advantage 
of  a  comfortable  corner  seat.  "Wanda  Lara,  who  had 
joined  them  at  the  Midnight  Frolic,  with  St.  Ledger, 
would  not  allow  Philip  to  wake  her. 

It  was  five  o'clock  on  a  bitter  November  morning 
before  she  crawled  into  bed,  more  dead  than  alive.  She 
slept  for  ten  hours,  exhausted  by  her  compulsory 
enjoyment. 

Philip  was  at  her  side  when  she  awoke. 


rt4i        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

''That  girl  Miss  Lara  is  just  the  type  I  want  for  my 
Mrs.  Devenage, "  he  said.  "I  simply  must  get  Voynich 
to  take  the  play.  "Where  would  I  get  elsewhere  such 
a  perfect  fit  for  that  part?     It  was  built  for  her." 

She  smiled  at  his  enthusiasm. 

"Go  and  talk  to  her  about  it,  darling,"  she  yawned. 
"She  seems  a  splendid  sort  of  girl,  and  I'm  sure  she'll 
love  Mrs.  Devenage.  If  she  wants  to  there's  no  doubt 
she  can  make  Mr.  Voj^nich  do  whatever  she  wishes. 
And  she  likes  you  already,  anyone  can  see." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Philip,  eagerly. 

"Think  so?  If  I  was  a  silly,  jealous  sort  of  idiot, 
I'd  have  scratched  her  last  night.  I  only  hope  you 
can  make  her  like  you  enough  to  insist  on  'Game  and 
Rubber'  being  her  next  play.  Now,  do  go  away,  and 
let  me  rest.  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  they  don't  make  me 
enjoy  myself  to-night.     I'll  be  dead." 

An  hour  later  she  was  writing  a  letter  to  Peter,  and 
it  was  dated  from  "Hurry-on  Avenue." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

' '  When  Nag  the  hashing  cobra  hears  the  careless  foot  of  man 
He  will  sometimes  wriggle  sideways  and  avoid  it  if  he  can, 
But  his  mate  males  no  such  motion  as  she  camps  beside  her  trail, 
For  the  female  of  her  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male." 

— The  Female  of  the  Species 

WANDA  LARA  lived  in  a  suite  of  rooms  at  one 
of  the  big  hotels.  She  seemed  to  possess  un- 
limited money  to  gratify  all  her  varied  desires. 
Her  apartments  themselves  were  evidence  of  this. 

She  had  begun  by  sweeping  them  bare  of  all  their 
original  furnishings,  and  from  the  walls  she  ordered 
the  paper  to  be  stripped.  Then  her  canvas  stood  ready 
for  her.  She  could  express  herself,  in  all  the  freedom 
of  a  bizarre  sense  of  color  and  texture. 

The  rooms  were  three  in  number.  The  first  delighted 
the  eye  with  the  palest  of  pastel  pinks,  the  only  contrast- 
ing note  being  daring  old-gold  window  hangings.  In 
exquisite  gradations  of  tint,  the  pink  gradually  blushed 
to  the  deep  rose  that  filled  the  further  end  of  the  room 
with  a  soft  radiance.  And  as  the  walls  progressed  in 
semi-tones,  so  did  the  corresponding  furniture,  and 
electric-light  shades.  Silken  brocades,  covering  period 
furniture,  grew  in  depth  of  color,  till  it  seemed  as  though 
a  shadow  lay  upon  a  rose-garden. 

Folding  doors  that  could  be  flung  back,  making  one 
immense  room,  opened  into  a  sort  of  boudoir,  done  in 
warm  crimsons,  a  nest  that  invited  to  the  indolent 
delights  of  laissez-faire.  Huge  chairs  and  a  broad  divan 
in  soft  crimson  suede  offered  cosy  comfort.  In  the 
further  wall  a  door  led  to  the  bedroom,  which  com- 
pleted a  crescendo  of  color  with  a  burning  flame  effect 
of  mingled  reds  and  yellows.     Its  crudity  shocked;  its 

275 


276        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

insistence  repelled ;  but  it  doubtless  supplied  a  note  for 
which  the  curious  mind  of  Wanda  craved.  It  was  tonic, 
if  barbaric.  Its  very  elemental  character  braced  the 
spirit  after  the  too  pretty  effect  of  the  long  reception- 
room. 

There  were  people  who  said  the  suite  represented  a 
rake's  progress  in  Wanda's  aifections,  from  the  pink 
of  dawning  desire  to  the  flame  in  which  satisfaction  was 
quenched.  Certain  it  is  that  acquaintance  never  pro- 
gressed farther  than  the  first  room,  while  the  second 
belonged  to  intimacy.  Of  the  third  there  is  nothing  to 
say. 

But  if  the  taste  of  the  color  scheme  were  questionable, 
that  of  the  adornment  could  not  be  impugned.  Furni- 
ture, pure  Heppelwhite,  bric-a-brac  severely  scanty, 
flowers  even,  were  perfect,  while  a  few,  a  very  few 
pictures,  mostly  etchings,  bore  testimony  to  an  artist's 
educated  eye,  but  hung  rather  starkly  against  the  too 
colorful  background. 

In  this  setting  Wanda  looked  more  like  a  lily  than 
ever,  her  color  drained  by  her  surroundings. 

Philip's  first  swift  thought  attributed  to  her  an 
austere  purity.  She  appealed  to  his  sense  of  chivalry. 
There  was  something  in  her  which  held  itself  rigidly 
aloof  from  men,  something  that  plaintively  called  for 
protection. 

It  was  an  illusion.  In  Wanda  Lara  sex  was  supreme, 
if  somewhat  perverse.  By  her  very  backward  gesture 
she  allured.  Her  eyes  were  fugitive,  but  her  mouth 
beckoned  the  pursuer.  She  had  a  mind  careful  of  the 
world's  opinion,  but  unafraid  of  it.  She  smiled  at  the 
whispers  of  doubt  whether  she  was  not  too  good  to  be 
true,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  risk  the  loud  stridency  of 
discovered  seandal.  Diseretion  governed  hor  actions 
accordingly.  But  she  never  forewent  her  chief  diversion 
of  poking  sluggish  mankind  from  behind  the  bars  of  her 
apparent  detachment.  Her  passions  were  a  sheathed 
flame  which  seared  others,  while  it  failed  to  warm 
herself. 

Philip  had  attracted  her.     On  Margaret  she  had  cast 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        277 

the  rapid,  appraising  look  which  woman  gives  to  sister- 
woman,  and  in  that  instant  had  understood  that  they 
were  of  two  different  codes.  So  the  beautiful  jungle 
beast,  ranging  far  and  fighting  hard,  might  view  her 
domesticated  sister,  tamely  feeding  from  the  hand  of 
her  captor.  Not  for  an  instant  did  she  regard  Philip 
at  that  stage  as  a  man  whose  possession  she  cared  to 
dispute,  but  she  belonged  to  the  fairly  numerous  class 
of  women,  in  whom  sleek  lawfulness  arouses  a  species  of 
miching  mallecho,  a  desire  to  throw  a  hammer  into  the 
cogs  of  a  smooth-running  domestic  machine,  and  with 
gleeful  mischief  watch  the  result. 

Philip,  with  an  eager  wish  to  please  her  in  such 
fashion  that  he  might  ultimately  persuade  her  to  create 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Devenage  in  his  play,  responded  with 
flattering  alacrity  to  the  invitation  she  gave  for  him 
to  call.  She  had  paid  a  visit  to  Margaret,  and  had 
included  her,  with  a  sweetly  impressive  look,  which, 
however,  challenged  acceptance.     Philip  went  alone. 

Wanda  uttered  conventional  regrets  at  Margaret's 
absence,  which  she  perfectly  understood.  Philip,  to 
sweeten  the  defection,  made  occasion  to  repeat  Mar- 
garet 's  description  of  her  as  "  a  splendid  girl. ' '  Wanda 
smiled. 

"How  sweet  of  her!"  she  said. 

The  touch  of  reserve  in  her  manner  charmed  Philip, 
whose  British  soul  the  effusive  would  have  alarmed. 
A  maid  brought  in  tea,  and  hovered  discreetly,  quite 
evidently  by  command.  Philip  smiled  secretly  at  the 
virginal  precaution.  As  though  she  were  not  sufficiently 
protected  by  her  mail  of  purity,  he  thought  to  himself. 

The  talk  was  bright.  She  knew  how  to  manage  men, 
and  she  deftly  contrived  to  make  the  conversation  dis- 
play Philip,  his  hopes  and  his  opinions.  She  had  a 
pleasant,  deprecating  way  of  shrugging  away  the  com- 
pliments he  made  on  her  own  acting,  and  immediately 
steered  the  talk  back  to  his  important  self.  He  thought 
she  was  so  intelligent.  He  was  right.  When  he,  almost 
by  inadvertence,  revealed  the  fact  that  he  had  brought 
a  play  to  New  York,  she  displayed  charming  pleasure 


278        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

and  surprise.  Some  day  he  must  read  it  to  her.  Oh, 
nonsense,  it  would  be  of  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
world.  When  he  got  up  to  go,  she  sent  her  love,  with  a 
pretty,  modest  hesitation,  to  his  wife.  He  considered 
that  so  sweet  and  friendly  of  her.  He  was  correspond- 
ingly annoyed,  when  Margaret  smiled. 

''She  took  a  tremendous  fancy  to  you,  Margaret," 
he  said. 

"Yes,  there's  something  about  me  she  admires,"  she 
replied,  demurely.  *'My  dear  old  thing,  your  Wanda 
is  a  very  clever  woman." 

There  are  compliments  that  sting.  How  cattish  a 
good  woman  can  be !  Philip  reflected  sorrowfully.  Bet- 
ter knowledge  would  make  Margaret  admit  she  was 
hasty  in  her  judgment. 

He  arranged  a  luncheon  with  this  object.  It  was  a 
success.  For  an  hour  they  talked  without  saying  any- 
thing, and,  as  women  do  in  some  occult  way,  said  good- 
hye  with  a  perfect  comprehension  of  each  other. 

"She'll  take  Philip  from  me,  if  she  can.  Let  her  try," 
thought  Margaret. 

' '  I  hate  that  serene  type  of  woman.  She  despises  me, ' ' 
thought  Wanda.     "One  of  these  days  she'll  see." 

"Thank  goodness  they  both  appreciate  each  other 
now,"  thought  Philip.  "You  remember  yon  considered 
she  was  a  splended  girl  at  first,"  he  reminded  his  wife. 

"Oh,  she's  wonderful,"  agreed  Margaret. 

"Isn't  she?"  said  Philip. 

On  his  second  visit  the  maid  did  not  hover.  Wanda 
still  leaned  backward;  she  still  wore  her  purity  like  a 
garment ;  but  if  it  were  not  an  impossible  thing,  there 
was  a  provocative  gleam  in  her  eyes  that  in  a  less 
innocent  personality  would  have  meant — "Come  and 
catch  me."    Wanda  was  busy  poking  between  the  bars. 

She  asked  him  to  tell  her  about  the  play — not  to  miss 
the  tiniest  thing.  Then  he  must  read  it  to  her.  It  was 
a  dull,  November  afternoon,  and  the  trees  in  the  Park 
opposite  dripped  mournfully  in  a  thin  fog.  She  shiv- 
ered and  drew  the  old-gold  hangings  across  the  windows, 
and  switched  on  rosy  lights.    Warm  comfort  lapped  them 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        279 

in  little  waves.  Wanda  had  hesitated  a  little  at  his 
proffered  cigarette-case.  Would  a  refusal  impress  him? 
She  decided  that  too  much  jeune  fille  would  be  overdoing 
it,  and  she  accepted  one.  She  leaned  back  on  her 
cushions  and  made  graceful  play.  One  arm,  in  a  loose 
sleeve,  shown  in  all  its  blue-veined  beauty,  was  thrust 
behind  her  head,  while  a  silken  ankle  gleamed  in  obtru- 
sive innocence,  idly  stirring  light  skirts  with  its  swing. 
Its  fellow,  rigorously  concealed,  rested  on  the  end  of  the 
couch.  Silken  ankles  of  purity  have  an  attraction  that 
the  ankles  of  immodesty  lack.  Wanda  was  deliciously 
unaware  of  Philip's  eyes. 

He  talked.  He  talked  with  that  swift  enthusiasm 
which  always  gripped  him,  when  he  spoke  of  his  ambition. 
He  pictured  for  her  the  drama  which  he  had  imagined ; 
drew  for  her  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Devenage,  the  woman 
who  had  sworn  to  avenge  her  husband's  suicide  on  the 
man  for  whose  crime  he  had  died ;  painted  too,  the 
latter,  with  his  solid  useful  future  built  on  his  wretched 
deed,  actuated  by  siincerity  and  a  burning  love  of 
country.  And  then  he  described  the  way  in  which  Mrs. 
Devenage  at  last,  after  a  decade,  met  her  husband's 
virtual  slayer,  met  him  in  ignorence  and  loved  him 
for  precisely  those  qualities  which  had  made  him  a 
marked  man  among  men ;  he  put  to  Wanda  the  problem 
which  had  tortured  Mrs.  Devenage — to  ignore  the  past 
and  take  the  joyous  gift  which  Life  was  offering  her, 
or  to  appease  the  manes  of  her  dead  husband,  and  blast 
the  life  of  the  man  she  loved?  Skilfully  he  showed  the 
mingled  good  and  bad  impulses  which  had  brought  about 
the  original  tragedy,  indicated  the  gradual  elimination 
of  the  dross  of  selfishness  and  greed  from  his  pro- 
tagonist's character;  on  the  other  hand  he  did  not  hide 
the  dastardly  meanness  that  had  changed  Mrs.  Devenage 
into  a  woman  with  a  mission,  which  had  at  last  become 
an  idee  fixe. 

Wanda  had  paid  little  attention  at  first.  The  music 
of  Philip 's  voice,  and  the  fire  in  his  eyes  had  drawn  her 
mind  from  his  words.  They  were  a  mere  ohhligato. 
But  as  his  story  progressed,  she  found  her  artist 's  mind 


280        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

following  him,  and  the  crisis  stirred  her  with  its  dramatic 
possibilities.  When  he  put  his  dilemma,  with  an  appeal 
for  her  woman's  solution,  she  considered  a  moment, 
with  half-closed  eyes. 

*'She  would  blast  him,  and  then  give  herself  to  him 
to  build  his  life  afresh,"  she  replied,  out  of  her  artistic 
intuition.  Wanda,  the  authentic  Wanda  Lara,  would 
herself  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort. 

"Exactly  w^hat  she  docs,"  exulted  Philip,  glad  beyond 
measure  that  their  minds  jumped  so  nicely.  "But  why 
should  she?" 

"Woman's  superstition,"  answered  Wanda.  "She 
would  fear  her  husband's  unending  enmity  and  his 
malign  influence  on  their  happiness,  unless  she  threw  a 
sop  to  Cerberus.  She  ruined  your  hero  to  please  the 
late  lamented,  and  married  the  wreck  she  had  made 
to  please  herself.  I  want  to  read  the  play,  and  as 
quickly  as  possible,"  she  said,  imperiously. 

"Are  you  as  interested  as  all  that?"  he  asked, 
flattered. 

"Yes.  I  see  myself  as  your  Mrs.  Devenage.  Is  she 
young?" 

"She  was  a  girl,  married  to  a  middle-aged  man  at 
the  time  of  the  crash,"  he  explained,  "and  ten  years 
go  by  before  she  meets  the  man  for  whom  she  is  looking. 
She  would  be  about  thirty." 

"That  would  be  just  right,"  she  admitted.  "I'm 
twenty-nine.     Let  me  see  it  to-morrow." 

He  was  glowing.  No  wonder  he  thought  she  was 
rather  a  wonderful  person — a  fairy,  who  with  a  wave 
of  a  magic  wand  might  create  for  him  a  kingdom  into 
which  he  might  immediately  enter. 

He  took  his  play  next  day,  but  she  was  uneasy,  for 
some  reason.  He  had  come  prepared  to  spend  another 
delightful  afternoon,  but  she  seemed  anxious  that  he 
should  go.  She  listened  with  knitted,  business-like 
brows  to  his  necessary  explanations,  and  did  not  ask 
him  to  sit  down. 

He  made  a  laughing  farewell,  and  turned  to  the 
door.     Before  he  reached  it,  however,   it  was   opened 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        281 

without  ceremony,  and  a  man  entered.  Wanda's  eyes 
dilated  just  the  slightest.  Otherwise  she  was  equal  to 
the  situation.  Philip  did  not  even  know  a  situation 
existed.  He  waited  for  the  necessary  introduction, 
and  then  held  out  his  hand,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
visitor's  face.  As  he  did  so,  he  received  an  impression 
of  malignant,  damnable  evil.  Two  eyes  held  his,  and 
in  their  depths  he  saw  suspicion  and  a  flash  of  dislike. 
They  were  curious  eyes,  filled  with  a  dull  gleam  of 
polished  steel.  It  was  as  though  a  thousand  years  of 
antipathy  had  culminated  in  that  long  glance,  in  which 
the  rapiers  of  their  minds  had  crossed. 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Roger  Ferrero — Mr.  Lee,'* 
murmured  Wanda.  Then  to  the  visitor,  **You  are 
earlier  than  you  said." 

"It  is  good  to  be  early  sometimes,"  replied  Fer- 
rero, with  a  hint  of  double  meaning  in  his  voice.  It 
reached  Wanda,  for  her  pallor  became  suddenly  red. 
She,  so  self-possessed,  seemed  at  a  loss. 

"Mr.  Lee  has  a  play  in  which  I  am  to  appear,'* 
she  said,  and  it  almost  had  the  air  of  a  justification. 
"Leave  it  for  the  present,  Mr.  Lee,  and  I  will  read 
it,  and  let  you  know." 

"So  you  are  to  appear  in  a  play  you  have  not  yet 
read?"  Ferrero  murmured,  softly,  and  smiled  as  though 
he  had  caught  her.  "Voynich  seems  to  be  under  your 
thumb.     How  is  Voynich,  by  the  way?" 

"Just  the  same,"  she  replied  indifferently,  and  held 
out  her  hand  in  dismissal  to  Philip.  He  bowed,  nodded 
to  Ferrero,  and  went  away  wondering  what  that  bounder 
wanted  to  butt  in  like  that  for,  confound  his  colossal 
impudence. 

The  door  closed  on  him,  and  Wanda  turned  fiercely 
to  Ferrero. 

"Eoger,  I  must  warn  you  that  I  will  not  tolerate 
the  airs  of  a  proprietor  you  assume  towards  me." 

His  small,  delicate  hand  went  up  to  a  dark 
moustache,  and  absently  twirled  in  a  dandified  manner. 
His  eyes  were  on  her  with  a  speculative  look. 

"But  I  am  a  proprietor,"  he  said,   softly.    "And 


882         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

I  know  how  to  take  care  of  my  property,  you  will  find. 
It  was  unfortunate  I  had  to  leave  New  York  so  long. 
But  it  is  well  now.     I  am  back  again." 

His  voice  had  a  southern  inflection  in  it  that  was 
musical  to  an  extraordinary  degree. 

"You  see,  my  Wanda,  it  is  only  the  new  men  I 
have  to  fear  for  you.  You  love  so  to  train  the  new 
men,  and  make  them  jump  through  the  hoops  for  you. 
"When  they  become  too — what  shall  we  say? — intimef — 
then  you  are  safe  once  more.  I  know,  I  myself  was  once 
new,  and  you  would  treat  me  like  that,  but  I  am  not 
built  like  your  obedient  American  and  Englishmen,  who 
come  back  and  lick  the  hand  that  has  struck.  Do  you 
remember  ? ' ' 

He  laughed,  with  a  genuine  mirth,  but  there  was 
a  disagreeable  note  in  the  laughter  that  jarred  on  her. 
She  did  indeed  remember.  He  had  come  to  New  York 
with  some  famous  Italian  actors,  playing  a  classic  sea- 
son. Roger  had  made  a  big  hit  in  light  comedy.  The 
season  had  been  a  disaster,  but  Ferrero  had  remained 
under  contract.  He  had  been  well  w^orth  prodding 
from  behind  the  bars.  How  could  she  know  the  untamed 
beast  within  his  small  frame?  He  had  torn  down  her 
bars ;  he  had  treated  her  as  she  deserved  to  be  treated ; 
how  he  had  laughed  at  her  threats!  He  mastered  her, 
nrimitively,  savagely.  Awed,  frightened,  her  shallow 
heart  touched  temporarily  into  feeling,  she  had  been 
made  to  realize  that  she  was  his  woman.  Him  only 
among  thousands  of  his  superiors  had  she  obeyed.  He 
bullied,  coaxed,  spurned,  caressed,  as  the  mood  seized 
him,  and  once  he  had  yielded  to  an  ungovernable  mad- 
ness of  temper  and  had  beaten  her  from  an  imperious 
woman  to  a  chattel. 

There  was  no  question  that  she  remembered. 

"How  long  will  you  be  here?"  she  asked. 

"For  some  months  at  least,"  he  replied.  *'I  will 
stay  at  this  hotel,  I  think,  and  look  after  my  prop- 
erty." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  retorted  "Do 
you  think  I'm  anxious  for  a  scandal?     Roger  Ferrero 's 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        ^83 

reputation "     She  spread  out  expressive  explana- 
tory hands. 

He  smiled. 

"As  you  will.  Am  I  to  be  given  a  cocktail?  The 
Englishman  had  no  tea,  I  preceive.  Did  the  bad  Roger 
drive  him  away?" 

She  met  his  mocking  eyes. 

**He  is  an  Australian,  not  an  Englishman.  He  has 
a  wife  with  him,  a  charming  woman " 

*'And  you  are  giving  him  lessons  in  "Wanda,  eh? 
Beautiful!  So  nice  for  the  charming  Madame  Lee! 
And  she  does  not  come  to  the  reading  of  the  play,  no  ? " 

*'No.     It  is  business,"  she  explained. 

**Ah!  Of  course — ^business.  Like  the  business  of 
the  nice  boy  Paolo  with  the  innocent  Francesca! 
They,  too,  were  reading  a  book.  Yes,  I  must  certainly 
watch  this  Paolo  and  my  Francesca." 

"You  are  the  worst  man  I  know,  Eoger,"  she  said, 
vehemently.  "I  believe  there  is  no  crime  you  would 
not  commit,  if  it  pleased  you.  Do  you  think  every- 
body is  bad?" 

''"WTell ,"    he    reflected,    his    head    on    one    side, 

"perhaps  not  everybody.     I  think — shall  we  say  that  I 
think  women  over  sixty  are  virtuous,  and  dead  men  are 

trustworthy?       Otherwise "       He     shrugged     his 

shoulders  and  looked  regretful  volumes. 

She  mixed  the  cocktails. 

"And  dear  Acton  St.  Ledger,  does  he  still  worship 
at  the  shrine  of  Wanda?"  he  asked,  lazily. 

"You're  not  jealous  of  St,  Ledger,  and  yet  he  does 
adore  me, ' '  she  said,  curiously. 

"Ah,  iDut  one  is  not  jealous  of  women,"  he  sub- 
mitted. "I  am  fond  of  Acton.  I  have  even  lent  him 
money.     No,  he  does  not  worry  me." 

He  placed  his  glass  on  the  little  table,  and  took  his 
hat. 

"I  will  say  au  revoir,  cara  mia.  You  will  be  able  to 
find  me  at  the  Actors',  as  usual.  I  will  go,  and  let  you 
enjoy  the  play  of  the  Australian  with  the  charming 


284        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

wife.     By  the  way,  why  does  he   not   fight  with   his 
countrymen  ? " 

"I  didn't  think  of  asking  him,"  she  returned  lazily. 
"Somehow  I  think  he  might  be  rather  fond  of  fighting, 
if  he  were  ever  put  to  it.  Ask  him.  Voynich  is  going 
to  put  him  up  at  the  Actors'  Club.     Good-bye." 

That  night,  when  Voynich  dropped  into  her  dressing- 
room,  she  turned  to  him,  with  little  apparent  interest. 

"Hugo,  what  are  you  going  to  place  me  in  when  this 
rubbish  is  carted  away?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  there's  a  few  month's  in  'Benediction'  yet,"  he 
temporized. 

"Haven't  you  got  anything  to  take  its  place — a  good 
vehicle  for  me,  I  mean,  of  course?" 

"Time  enough,"  he  said. 

"That  means  you  haven't.  Hugo,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly, "I've  found  a  play,  a  big  thing,  a  very  big 
thing." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

She  knew  him  well  enough  not  to  bungle. 

"You  fool,"  she  said,  scornfully;  "you  were  wining 
and  dining  that  man  Lee,  and  never  got  out  of  him 
what  he  was  here  for.  He  brought  a  letter  to  Olney, 
as  well  as  to  you,  and  had  practically  fixed  it  up, 
when  I  got  wise.  I've  beaten  Olney  to  it,  I  think. 
Lee  eats  out  of  my  hand." 

VojyTiich  stared. 

"But  Olney  has  been  in  San  Francisco  ever  since 
Lee  got  here,"  he  said.  He  was  a  hard  man  to  fool. 
But  Wanda  knew  his  obstinate  nature.  If  he  thought 
he  was  "beating  Olney  to  it,"  his  combativeness  would 
fight  for  her. 

"It  was  fixed  up  on  the  Australian  side,  for  the  most 
part.  Lee  had  you  as  second  string.  He'd  promised 
Olney  he  wouldn't  mention  it  to  anyone."  ^  She  was 
lying  easily,  naturally,  for  the  very  love  of  dissimulation. 

"And  you've  read  it — this  play?"  he  asked. 

"Sure  thing.  And  it's  immense — ^big  part  for  me, 
and  Acton  could  do  the  man — just  the  type  of  hero  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        285 

people  eat  up.  You've  got  to  do  it,  Hugo,  and  at 
once,     I  'm  sick  to  death  of  this  rotten  thing. ' ' 

With  Voynich  she  affected  a  rather  vulgar,  slangy 
style  of  conversation.  The  culture  of  her  ordinary 
speech  irritated  him. 

''Well,  I  dunno,"  he  hesitated. 

"You  just  want  to  save  the  expense  of  a  production, 
and  depend  on  'Benediction'  to  pull  you  through 
another  season.  It  won't  do  it.  We're  getting  stale 
on  it,  and  the  booking's  none  too  good.  All  the  tears 
in  New  York  have  been  shed." 

"Where's  this  play  of  yours?" 

Quickly  she  produced  it,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"Look  here,"  she  said.  In  a  few  words  she  staged 
the  scene  for  him.  "What  about  this  for  a  curtain?" 
She  declaimed  a  few  sentences  and  the  tag  that  brought 
down  the  first  curtain,  and  her  dramatic  voice  with  its 
exquisite  cadences  gave  full  value  to  the  words. 

His  eyes  glistened.  Subtleties  eluded  him,  but  he  was 
a  good  judge  of  broad  effects. 

"I'll  read  it,"  he  capitulated.  "I'd  like  to  put  one 
over  on  that  feller  Olney.     Leave  this  with  me." 

"Sit  here,  I 'm  just  due  to  go  on.  I  want  a  decision 
to-night.  You  can  easily  finish  it  before  I  go  home. 
Stick  to  it." 

"Eight,"  he  grunted,  and  she  vanished. 

He  read  on.  An  hour  afterwards,  he  rose  and  roared 
down  the  passage.  Wanda  had  come  off,  meantime, 
slipped  on  her  nun's  robes,  and  gone  back  to  the  stage 
for  the  Third  Act.     She  smiled  to  see  him  so  absorbed. 

"I  say,  you  Jim!"  he  shouted. 

A  boy  appeared. 

"You  tell  Jacobs  to  come  here,"  he  ordered. 

Jacobs,  the  producer,  soon  joined  him. 

"Get  out  a  scene-plot  o'  this,  and  let  me  have  a 
figurin'  o'  the  cost.  Here,  sit  down  here,  and  I'll  give 
you  the  outlines  o'  what  we'll  want.  Far  as  I  can 
see,  we've  got  everything  in  the  loft." 

For  twenty  minutes  Jacobs  figured,  with  the  ease  of 
experience.     Then,  with  pencil  poised,  he  gave  the  total. 


286         THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Voynich  was  nothing  if  not  downright. 

"Get  it  going  at  once.  I  want  this  produced  in 
January.     We  can  try-out  down  at  Baltimore." 

"Got  something  good,  Governor?"  asked  Jacobs. 

"Better  than  the  best,  I  reckon.     Go  to  it." 

Jacobs  opened  the  door  for  Wanda,  who  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

"Well,  was  I  right?''  she  asked. 

"And  then  some,"  said  Voynich;  "and  Mrs.  Deven- 
age  will  make  you,  you  cunning  devil,"  he  added. 

"As  if  I  didn't  know,"  she  retorted. 

That  night  she  wrote  a  note  to  Philip.  As  he  read 
it,  his  face  shone. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Voynich  has  accepted  'Game  and  Rubber,'  "  he 
said.  "Miss  Lara  got  him  to  read  it.  Isn't  she  a 
trump?" 

"Does  she  say  when  he  will  produce  it?"  his  wife 
inquired. 

"January,"  he  replied,  his  eyes  busy  with  the  letter. 

"Then  we  can  be  home  by  February,"  she  calcu- 
lated, delightedly.  "Oh,  Phil,  won't  it  be  heavenly  to 
get  to  an  Australian  sun  once  more?" 

His  tone  was  not  enthusiastic  as  he  agreed  per- 
functorily. 

Margaret,  it  may  be  noted,  did  not  read  Wanda's 
letter.  Which,  on  the  whole,  was  just  as  well — or  was 
it,  after  all? 

Wanda  was  prodding  her  "new  man,"  in  spite  of 
Ferrero. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"If  yon  can  dream — and  not  make  dreams  your  master; 
If  you  can  think — and  not  make  thoughts  your  aim; 
If  you  can  m^et  with   Triumph  and  Disaster 

And  treat   those  two  impostors  just  the  same; 
If  you  can  fill  the  unforgiving  minute 

With  sixty  seconds'  worth  of  distance  run, 
Yours  is  the  Earth  and  everything  that's  in  it. 
And — which  is  more — you'll  be  a  Man,  my  son." 

— Il- 

THERE  began  for  Philip  one  of  the  worst  periods 
he  had  ever  endured.  He  lived  at  high  tension, 
spending  long  hours  in  a  close  theatre,  every 
minute  of  that  time  packed  with  nervous  strain. 

Rehearsals  were  not  going  well.  St.  Ledger,  either 
through  an  obstinate  dislike  of  Philip  or  because  he 
was  not  strong  enough  for  the  part,  made  it  anaemic, 
its  feebleness  emphasized  by  the  strength  of  Mrs. 
Devenage.  Wanda  had  succeeded  to  a  miracle.  She 
had  clothed  herself  with  the  part.  During  long  hours 
she  had  studied  it  with  the  author,  until  they  were 
completely  at  one.  Philip  felt  that  on  her  rested  the 
whole  success  of  the  play. 

He  hardly  saw  Margaret  at  all.  She  did  not  belong 
to  the  world  of  the  theatre,  and  thus  she  was  out  of 
Philip's  own  world.  His  doubts  and  difficulties  he  took 
to  Wanda.  Why  not?  They  were  wholly  connected 
with  the  only  matter  his  mind  could  hold.  Margaret 
could  not  resolve  questions  like  these.  She  could  only 
symphathize. 

Philip  was  not  in  the  least  in  love  with  Wanda.  He 
would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  woman  holding  any 
place  in  his  life,  save  as  subsidiary  to  his  achievements. 
He  was  literally  obsessed  with  one  passion — to  wrest 

287 


288        THE  ASPIES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

from  New  York  the  seal  of  approval  for  his  work,  since 
the  world  had  agreed  that  such  a  seal  was  necessary. 
Wanda  could  help  him  more  than  any  other  woman 
to  that  necessary  objective,  and  so  her  importance  waxed, 
without  the  slightest  sentimental  admixture. 

For  this  big  opportunity  he  had  worked.  For  it 
he  had  suffered.  For  it  he  was  making  Margaret 
suffer.  AVhen  he  could  spare  a  few  moments  for  self- 
examination,  he  admitted  that.  Naturally  Margaret 
was  too  much  alone.  Naturally  she  missed  the  attention 
she  had  every  right  to  expect.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
short  time.  A  man  cannot  spend  his  life  on  his  knees. 
Women  must  realize  that  work  comes  before  worship, 
and  honeymoon  extravagance  must  give  place  to  more 
or  less  humdrum  economy  of  sentiment.  But  Margaret 
was  such  a  splendid,  understanding  sort  of  old  thing 
that  she  would  thoroughly  understand  that  he  must  give 
all  his  time  and  thought  to  the  play  and  the  people  who 
were  going  to  make  the  play.  Why,  think  what  it 
would  mean!  What  if  there  were  a  little  discomfort 
just  now.  It  was  natural  that  in  the  narrow  corridor 
down  which  people  crowded  to  that  spacious,  gracious 
hall  of  Success,  there  should  be  a  little  elbowing  and 
jostling,  a  trifle  of  treading  on  other  people's  toes 
And  it  was  even  possible  they  should  lose  friends  in  the 
press  of  the  mob,  but  it  would  be  all  right  in  the  big 
Hall.  They  would  laugh  over  the  squash,  when  they 
found  each  other  again,  and  the  annoyances  of  the  cor- 
ridor would  be  dismissed  with  a  smile. 

Wanda,  on  the  other  hand,  found  that  her  new  man 
was  not  responding  at  all  amusingly  to  the  poking.  He 
was  the  most  sluggish  of  all  her  animals.  He  respected 
her,  she  preceived — actually  believed  in  her.  He  had 
not  even  obliquely  referred  to  Ferrero,  and  she  was 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  never  even  specu- 
lated on  the  position  the  unpleasant  little  Italian  held 
in  her  life.     Not  to  speculate  meant  not  to  care. 

Naturally,  the  effect  of  this  was  to  annoy  her  to  the 
point  of  madness.  She  made  excuses  to  draw  Philip 
to  the  little  room  with  the  crimson  hangings,  and  con- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        9.89 

trived  skilfully  that  Ferrero  should  find  them  there. 
Her  plan  waa  that  Philip's  eyes  should  be  opened  to  a 
certain  extent,  and  his  interest  stimulated. 

If  so,  it  failed,  save  with  Ferrero.  He  smouldered 
slowly,  but  flame  was  long'  in  breaking  out.  Appar- 
ently he  recognized  that  the  exigencies  of  the  position 
gave  Philip  a  strong  claim  on  Wanda's  time.  But 
underneath  his  polite  urbanity  an  intense  hatred  burned. 
In  Philip's  manner  he  sensed  contempt.  Probably  the 
Englishman  and  his  brethren  in  the  Dominions  have  a 
more  unfortunate  manner  with  foreigners  than  any 
other  race.  It  is  difficult  to  prevent  a  faint  suggestion 
of  distaste  for  almost  any  foreigner  creeping  into  their 
bearing.  Ferrero  saw  it  in  Philip's,  and  his  mind 
twisted  it  into  an  indication  of  the  despite  a  successful 
lover  has  for  his  rival. 

And,  after  his  kind,  he  talked.  In  the  Actors'  Club 
he  sneered  subtly  at  Wanda,  at  Philip,  at  the  play. 
Allusions,  more  or  less  veiled,  began  to  creep  into 
paragraphs,  ''Town  Tattler"  was  forced  to  withdraw 
an  insinuation.  Insidiously  a  tiny  snake  of  scandal 
crept  about,  and  its  poison  began  to  work. 

Margaret  heard  nothing  of  the  whispers.  She  knew 
Philip  to  have  an  unusually  high  standard  of  personal 
honor.  She  suffered  from  the  enforced  neglect  that 
his  long  absences  entailed,  of  course;  but  not  for  one 
second  did  her  fine,  large  mind  hold  one  unworthy  doubt 
that  it  was  his  work  only  which  kept  him  from  her. 
It  was  one  of  the  penalties  which  dwellers  on  that  rest- 
less highway — *' Hurry-on  Avenue" — must  pay  for  their 
desirably  exalted  houses. 

Philip  had  small  time  to  spend  on  Ferrero  and  his 
works.  The  play  was  going  worse  than  ever.  Voy- 
nich  was  looking  grim,  and  once  had  been  heard  to 
say  that  at  the  rate  of  progress  they  were  making  they 
would  never  reach  the  ''trj'-out."  Since  'Benediction' 
had  been  withdrawn,  it  was  quite  possible  that  Voy- 
nich  might  put  on  something  in  its  place,  less  full  of 
risks  than  a  halting  "Game  and  Rubber." 

It  was  almost  wholly  the  fault  of  Acton  St.  Ledger. 


290        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Philip  raged  impotently.  Once  from  the  darkened  and 
shrouded  stalls  he  had  called  out  a  sarcasm  so  pugeni 
as  to  make  St.  Ledger  writhe.  The  others  laughed.  St. 
Ledger,  with  the  pettiness  of  a  little  mind,  meditated 
revenge.     He  made  his  plans. 

Olney,  whom  Voynich  regarded  as  his  own  personal 
and  peculiar  rival,  was  an  unscrupulous  man,  and  re- 
garded any  trick  as  justifiable  if  it  disabled  a  foe.  He 
was  known  as  a  trickster,  and  was  admired  by  a  section 
of  the  public,  who  gleefully  speculated  on  "what  raw 
one  Olney  was  goin'  to  pull  next." 

St.  Ledger  went  to  a  public  telephone  and  called  up 
the  Olney  Corporation  Offices.  Olney  was  in.  In  a 
few  seconds  he  had  made  arrangements  to  pick  him  up 
in  his  auto,  on  the  New  Jersey  side  of  the  river.  It 
was  necessary  that  such  a  prominent  Voynich  actor 
should  not  be  seen  with  the  rival  impressario. 

They  met.  It  did  not  take  long  to  come  to  an  under- 
standing. Olney,  shrewd,  fat,  flabby  Olnej'-,  was  the 
type  of  man  that  St.  Ledger  himself  would  develop 
into,  when  good-living  should  banish  good  looks,  and 
they  saw  in  each  other  kindred  souls.  It  w^as  arranged 
that  when  St.  Ledger  had  done  his  part  of  the  bargain, 
Olney  should  carry  out  his  contract  and  give  him  a 
leading  part  in  one  of  his  shows. 

Mutually  satisfied,  they  parted. 

Curiously  enough,  St,  Ledger  improved  noticeably 
in  his  role,  and  Philip  began  to  take  heart  of  grace. 
He  had  got  to  the  point  of  wishing  that  he  had  never 
taken  up  the  work  which  made  such  exacting  demands 
on  nerves  and  temper.  His  old  trick  of  irritability 
under  stress  had  returned.  But  with  the  improvement 
in  rehearsals  this  had  not  developed.  Perhaps  now  he 
could  give  Margaret  more  of  his  time.  She  had  long 
wanted  to  go  away.  The  winter  was  playing  up  with 
her  health.  He  wondered  as  he  walked  in  a  light  flurry 
of  snow,  from  the  theatre,  if  he  could  take  her  farther 
South,  and  hurry  back  for  the  premiere.  They  could 
do  without  him  now. 

His  face  wore  a  smile  as  he  went  in  to  Margaret, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        291 

but  no  answering  smile  met  him.  She  was  looking  white 
and  worried. 

**Phil,  darling,"  she  said,  "when  do  you  think  we 
could  get  away  ? ' ' 

There  was  a  note  of  acute  distress  in  her  voice  that 
was  new  to  her.  She  was  wont  to  endure  the  necessities 
of  the  situation  with  a  splendid  philosophy  that  allowed 
no  bitterness  to  escape  her. 

""Whj-,  Margaret!"  he  exclaimed,  **Is  anything  the 
matter?  Not — not  Peter?"  he  asked,  hastily.  Peter 
had  left  Australia  two  months  before,  and  they  had 
been  waiting  for  news. 

He  noticed  she  was  holding  a  letter  in  her  hand, 
and  a  sudden  fear  that  it  might  be  bad  news  had  struck 
him.     For  answer  she  handed  it  to  him. 

The  snake  had  struck  once  more,  and  this  time  its 
poison  was  directed  at  Margaret.  It  was  a  hideous, 
beastly,  anonj-mous  letter,  bidding  Margaret  look  after 
her  husband  better.    Wanda's  name  was  mentioned. 

*'0f  course,  Phil,  it's  just  gossip;  but  I  hate — oh, 
how  I  hate  this  place !  It  is  a  city  of  Lies  and  Intrigue. 
Somehow  I  feel  that  I  am  surrounded  by  influ- 
ences  "    She  broke  off.    **0h,  do  tell  me  that  you 

will  go  as  soon  as  the  play  is  produced.  An  agent  can 
look  after  your  interest,  surely.  I  want  my  own 
country,  Phil.  Please,  dear  old  boy,  look  at  it  from 
my  point  of  view." 

"I  am,  Margaret,  I  do.  It's  only  for  a  little  while. 
As  for  this" — he  tore  it  viciously  into  pieces — *'if  I 
knew  the  writer,  I'd  flog  him."  He  threw  the  scraps 
into  a  basket.  Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  the  envel- 
ope, a  plain,  white  square.  He  took  it  in  his  hands, 
and  held  it  up  to  the  light.  The  water-mark  was  plain 
to  be  seen.  His  compressed  lips  tightened,  and  a  look 
of  dawning  comprehension  came  to  his  eyes. 

"The  Actors'  Club!"  he  said,  and  stopped,  as  though 
breaking  off  from  a  subject  he  was  about  to  pursue. 
He  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  went  over  to  Margaret's 
chair. 

"Is  there  any  need  to  tell  you  that  there  is  not 


292        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

a  word  of  truth  in  the  whole  vile  suggestion?"  he 
asked.  She  looked  up  at  him  proudly,  and  her  arms 
went  out. 

"My  dear!"  she  said  simply. 

He  went  down  on  his  knees  to  her,  his  head  on  a 
level  with  hers.  For  a  long  second  he  looked  deep  into 
her  eyes. 

"There  is  no  woman  in  my  life  but  you,  Margaret," 
he  said,  and  his  voice  was  vibrant  with  feeling  and 
truth.  **  There  never  will  be.  I  only  wish  to  God  I 
had  a  nature  worthy  of  you.  I  know  how  often  I 
have  given  you  cause  to  regret  having  married  me.  But 
I  love  you,  Margaret,  in  my  selfish,  thoughtless,  neglect- 
ful way.     I  love  you,  and  only  you." 

She  leaned  forward,  her  arms  about  his  shoulders. 

"I  have  ne\-er  doubted  it  dear,"  she  said.  "But — 
Phil,"  she  hesitated,  "perhaps  you  don't  understand 
individual  woman  as  well  as  you  understand  women  in 
the  mass.  I  do  wish  you  needn't  see  so  much  of  Miss 
Lara.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it's  the  play,"  she  said,  hastily, 
seeing  he  was  about  to  interrupt;  "but  she  must  know 
everything  about  Mrs.  Devenage  by  now.  It  is  only 
three  weeks  off  the  "try-out"  Couldn't  you  let  her 
see  that — that  it  is  only  the  play  that  brought  you  to 
her?" 

"But  she  knows ,"  he  began. 

"Oh,  you  simple  goose,"  smiled  Margaret,  tenderly. 
"No  wonder  some  women  gobble  up  your  kind.  Are 
you  going  to  her  to-night?" 

"I  had  arranged  to.     We're  going  through  Act  Two." 

"Then  'phone  her  and  tell  her  you  can't  come,'* 
pleaded  Margaret. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  went  to  the  'phone 
and  sent  the  message  through.  Margaret  smiled 
proudly.  Had  she  needed  proof,  here  it  was  to  her 
hand.     Philip  belonged  to  her  still. 

At  rehearsal  next  day,  Philip's  dawning  hopes  of 
better  things  received  a  check.  St.  Ledger  was  excellent. 
He  seemed  to  be  conscientiously  tr^-ing  to  make  up  for 
his  former  shortcomings.     It  was  Wanda  who  was  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        293 

delinquent.  She  sauntered  through  her  part,  wooden, 
exasperating  beyond  words,  "When  Philip  came  up  to 
the  footlights  to  remonstrate,  she  listened  with  cool  de- 
tachment to  his  remarks,  and  made  no  reply.  A  repe- 
tition of  the  scene  brought  no  improvement. 

*'You're  interpreting  it  all  wrong,"  he  told  her,  in 
a  moment's  privacy  in  the  wings.  ''Mrs.  Devenage 
would  never  take  that  point  of  view." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  impertinent  air. 

"You  promised  to  go  over  that  Act  last  night,"  she 
said.     **I  suppose  that's  why  I  failed  to  grasp  it." 

He  certainly  did  not  fail  to  grasp  her  meaning.  She 
"was  punishing  him  for  his  defection. 

"Dine  with  me  to-night,  and  I  will  give  you  a  chance 
to  explain,"  she  said,  with  an  enigmatic  smile. 

In  terror  for  further  scamping  of  his  work,  he  agreed. 

It  was  the  method  she  henceforth  adopted  for  keeping 
him  tied  to  her  chariot  wheels.  Pure  malice  apparently 
was  her  motive,  for  pride  would  have  forbidden  her 
to  use  the  manoeuvi'e  save  for  punishment.  She  could 
have  got  no  pleasure  out  of  such  enforced  company. 
Margaret  did  not  ask  him  to  stay  with  her  again.  Her 
pride  rose  up  and  sealed  her  mouth. 

The  holiday  South  was  out  of  the  question  in  the 
uncertainty  of  the  circumstances.  VojTiich  was  pleased 
at  the  way  the  play  was  shaping,  and  Philip  simply  re- 
solved to  hang  on  till  it  was  fairly  launched,  and  then 
take  a  long  rest  somewhere  with  Margaret.  One  thing 
he  had  not  told  her.  It  seemed  a  cruelty  in  the  face 
of  her  longing  for  home.  He  had  signed  a  contract 
with  YojTiich  to  deliver  another  play  in  four  months, 
and  had  been  paid  a  fairly  large  sum  in  advance.  This 
would  necessitate  at  least  six  months  further  in  New 
York.  It  would  consolidate  his  position,  he  told  him- 
self, and  he  would  be  able  to  join  up  with  a  knowledge 
that  Margaret's  future  was  secure. 

Then  came  the  "try-out"  in  Baltimore.  Margaret 
was  not  present.  It  was  a  success  and  Yoynich  rubbed 
his  hands  and  predicted  a  long  run.  Advertisements 
began  to  obtrude  themselves,  and  Philip  found  himself 


294.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

being  boomed  as  a  "dark  horse,"  who  had  ''arrived." 

Curiosity  about  him  was  subtly  aroused,  and  Voynich's 
press  agent  spread  abroad  the  usual  ridiculous  canards. 

That  the  public  was  curious  the  booking  showed. 
The  libraries  reported  advance  sales  for  weeks  ahead. 

Philip  was  in  a  painful  state  of  nervousness  when  the 
night  arrived.  At  first  he  had  resolved  not  to  go  to 
the  theatre  at  all.  Memories  of  Amanda  clustered  in 
his  brain,  and  he  felt  that  to  undergo  that  slow  realiza- 
tion of  hostility  would  be  beyond  him.  Let  them  tell 
him  when  it  was  all  over  what  the  result  was,  and  he 
would  be  satisfied.  Margaret  felt  inclined  to  agree  with 
him,  but  she  was  excited  and  eager  to  go  herself.  Voy- 
nich  had  placed  the  proscenium  box  at  the  disposal  of 
the  author  and  his  wife. 

Human  nature  proved  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 

Philip  waited  till  nearly  eight  o'clock  before  he 
yielded  to  an  imperious  desire  to  go  and  take  what 
was  coming  to  him,  like  a  man,  whether  it  were  failure 
or  success. 

He  entered  the  theatre,  and  stood  behind  the  stalls 
barrier,  surveying  the  house.  So  these  were  the  judges, 
these  smiling,  nodding,  shuffling  people,  gay  and  chatter- 
ing as  parroquets.  Further  aloft  were  more  judges, 
with  kola  and  popcorn  a-plenty  on  the  judicial  bench, 
to  help  out  the  clarity  of  the  verdict.  His  eyes  turned 
to  the  box  in  which  Margaret  sat.  She  was  white  and 
still.  Success  meant  to  her  not  the  applause  and  the 
praise  and  the  newspaper  cuttings,  but  the  little  nest 
of  a  home  in  South  Yarra,  where  the  dear  home  trees 
presented  waving  green  tops  to  homesick  eyes. 

Ah!  There  was  Voynich.  Good  Heavens!  How 
excited  he  was!  Surely  he  was  inured  to  first  nights 
by  now.  Still  he  was  risking  hard  dollars ;  Philip  only 
a  reputation.  That  made  a  difference.  Voynich  was 
talking  excitedly  to  Margaret,  who  spoke  quietly  in 
reply.     The  manager  left  the  box  hurriedly. 

And  there  was  Ferrero.  How  smilingly  malicious 
the  wretched  little  bounder  looked!  Like  a  cat  which 
had  just  eaten  a  canary!     By  Jove,  it  must  be  nearly 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        g95 

time  for  a  start.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  Past  the 
half-hour.  Still  New  York  has  a  reputation  for 
unpunctuality  to  maintain. 

Jacobs  hurried  past,  without  seeing  Philip,  trouble 
in  his  eyes. 

"Time  they  were  starting,  Jacobs,"  called  Philip. 
Jacobs  turned  round. 

"We're  in  a  terrible  mess,"  he  said,  in  a  low  whisper. 
"Voynich  has  been  looking  for  you — just  'phoned  your 
hotel.     Come  round  at  once." 

They  hurried  through  a  box,  and  gained  the  dirty 
narrow  passage  that  gives  access  to  "behind  the  scenes," 
that  delectable  paradise  which  only  exists  in  the  excited 
imaginations  of  those  who  have  never  visited  it. 

"St.  Ledger  hasn't  turned  up,"  wailed  Jacobs, 
"There's  a  t'eatre  full  of  people  out  there,  and  I've 
got  to  go  and  tell  them  that  the  performance  can't  go 
on.     Ain't  it  jest  hell?" 

Philip  looked  at  his  stupidly. 

"Not  turned  up?  But — he's  under  contract,"  as  if 
that  would  operate  to  produce  him  like  a  Habeas 
Corpus  Act. 

"He's  done  us — don't  you  understand?  There's  no 
message.  He  was  in  his  Club  at  dinner-time,  quite  well, 
He's  sold  us — to  Olney,  Voynich  thinks." 

"But — Stretch,  the  understudy!  He'll  have  to  play. 
Oh,  this  will  ruin  it."  Philip  was  facing  a  big  crisis, 
and  for  a  second  it  unnerved  him. 

"Stretch  has  gone,  too.  Don't  you  see  the  whole 
dope,  Mr.  Lee?  Olney  has  been  working  to  queer  our 
pitch.  St.  Ledger  doesn't  love  you  much.  You  called 
him  down  too  hard.  And  Stretch  has  probably  been 
promised  a  better  contract  with  Olney.  Now  we've  just 
got  to  face  the  position — a  postponement,  and  New  York 
passing  us  the  loud  *  ha-ha.'  You  know  what  that 
means.     No  one  will  take  this  play  seriously  again." 

But  Philip  had  dashed  off.  Into  Voynich 's  office  he 
went  on  the  run.  Voynich  was  'phoning,  trying  to 
locate  Stretch,  ready  to  offer  him  a  better  price  than 
Olney.     He  turned  a  stricken  face  in  Philip's  direction. 


296        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"We're  ditched,"  he  said,  and  shook  the  'phoue, 
wiggling  the  hook,  to  hurry  up  his  connection. 

"By  God  we're  not,"  said  Philip.  "I'm  going  to 
play  the  part." 

"You!  You're  crazy,"  grunted  Vojmich.  But  he 
hung  up  the  receiver,  and  swung  round  to  look  con- 
temptuously at  Philip. 

"I  can  play  it  damn  sight  better  than  that  beast 
St.  Ledger,"  retorted  the  latter. 

"What!  Play  a  Broadway  Theatre!  Create  a 
leading  part  in  a  new  play!  You  couldn't  play  in  a 
ten-cent,  one-night-stand  show.  There's  one  thing  to 
do — close  down.  Hugo  Voj-nich  never  had  to  do  it 
before,  but  I  guess  there's  a  hoodoo  on  this  show.  It 
was  wished  on  me,  and  I  deserve  all  that's  comin'  for 
weakenin'.  But  play  an  amateur!  No,  sir,  you've  got 
to  guess  again." 

"I'm  no  amateur,"  stormed  Philip;  "I've  played 
leads,  and  in  Australia  we've  got  audiences  who  know 
what's  what  a  dam'  sight  better  than  your  piebald 
Broadway  crowds.  Oh,  can't  you  see  I've  got  to, 
Voynich?  It's  ruin  to  me,  any  other  way.  Make 
Jacobs  tell  'em  some  lie  about  St.  Ledger.  Olney  w^ould 
have  the  laugh  on  you  properly  if  he  forced  you  to 
close  down.  Isn't  that  just  what  he's  after?  I'm  off 
to  dress.     My  things  are  at  the  hotel." 

He  was  gone,  before  VojTiich  could  stop  him.  His 
last  reminder  about  Olney  was  so  true  that  it  had  taken 
the  wnnd  out  of  the  manager's  sails.  He  passed  a 
trembling,  fat  hand  uncertainly  across  his  jowl,  in 
unwonted  perplexity.  His  small,  piggy  eyes  had  a 
hurt  look  in  them.  He  had  always  won  so  easily.  This 
check  rattled  him.  Then  he  made  up  his  mind  to  the 
experiment.  It  might  defeat  Olnej'';  if  it  failed,  the 
position  was  no  worse. 

Jacobs  went  on  to  announce  the  change  in  the  cast. 
A  murmur  of  disappointment  rose  from  the  crowded 
house,  like  the  angry  growl  of  a  chained  beast.  Mar- 
garet felt  the  flesh  at  the  back  of  her  neck  creep.  How 
could  Philip  soothe  this  anger,  which  burst  into  quick, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        297 

excited  comment?  St.  Ledger  was  a  favorite.  Part  of 
the  contract  was  that  Voynich  should  give  them 
St.  Ledger. 

"With  this  huge  prejudice  to  overcome,  Philip  took 
his  cue  and  went  on  for  his  entrance.  He  had  little 
to  do  in  the  First  Act,  and  that  little  was  unsympathetic. 
He  played  the  part  of  Baring,  a  young  British  Secre- 
tary of  Legation  in  one  of  the  storm-centers  of  the 
Balkan  States,  who  sells  the  contents  of  a  State  docu- 
ment, to  get  himself  out  of  a  mess,  and  clears  out, 
ignorant  that  the  blame  has  fallen  on  another  official, 
whose  carelessness  has  made  it  possible  for  access  to  be 
obtained  to  the  document  in  question.  The  official, 
blundering,  good-natured  to  the  point  of  ineptitude,  a 
diplomatic  mis-fit,  sees  no  way  out  of  the  disgrace  but 
to  shoot  himself,  and  put  an  end  to  a  life  that  has  been 
a  series  of  weak  mistakes. 

The  sheer  drama  held  the  audience.  They  did  not 
notice  Philip.  He  was  merely  the  indicating  finger 
of  Fate.  It  was  the  superb  acting  of  the  inept,  middle- 
aged  official  which  carried  the  Act  through,  unhelped 
even  by  the  interest  of  a  woman. 

Margaret  looked  at  the  laughing  stalls,  and  her  heart 
dreaded  the  outcome.  Could  this  carelessness  be  gal- 
vanized into  that  forgetfulness  of  self,  which  alone 
would  understand  the  crisis  ? 

In  the  Second  Act  Philip's  chance  came.  "Wanda, 
beautiful,  a  slender  note  of  exclamation  in  a  black  velvet 
evening  gown  with  diamonds  glittering  against  it, 
roused  the  house  to  warm  excitement,  which  reacted  in 
Philip's  favor.  Their  love-scene  came — the  woman 
whose  elderly  husband's  death  she  has  sworn  to  avenge, 
and  the  man  who  was  responsible,  now  after  ten  years 
a  useful,  unselfish  statesman,  bringing  to  political 
fruition  a  plan  in  which  Mrs.  Devenage  is  deeply 
interested. 

Wanda's  voice,  rich  and  musical,  held  her  soul,  as 
she  gave  her  love  to  the  man  whose  work  she  vowed  to 
uphold.  In  her  beautiful,  giving  hands  she  seemed  to 
hold  out  to  him  that  soul  of  her,  for  him  to  take.     There 


298        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

was  no  banality  of  stage-love  in  the  scene — only  sincere, 
wholesome,  clean  emotion. 

They  played  the  scene,  as  they  had  rehearsed  it 
twenty  times  together.  Neither  had  been  satisfied  with 
what  St.  Ledger  got  out  of  it.  Now,  keyed  up  beyond 
the  normal,  Philip  wrung  from  it  the  last  particle  of 
feeling.     A  storm  of  applause  greeted  its  conclusion. 

It  was  all  settled  before  the  Third  Act,  with  its 
appalling  dilemma,  came  on.  Philip  had  not  only  made 
a  success  of  the  play,  but  a  great  personal  triumph  for 
himself.  His  youth,  his  cleanness,  his  good  looks,  so 
different  from  the  flabby  sleekness  of  St.  Ledger,  made 
a  tremendous  impression  on  the  most  impressionable 
audience  in  America.  A  whisper  had  gone  round 
that  he  was  the  man  Wanda  Lara  had  got  mixed  up 
with  and  a  succes  de  scandale  was  superadded  to  the 
other. 

The  Third  Act  put  the  coping-stone  to  the  edifice  he 
had  reared  with  such  pains.  He  responded  to  the  calls 
of  "Author!  Author!"  with  the  keenest,  sharpest 
emotion  he  ever  remembered,  since  Margaret  had  come 
to  him  in  another  theatre  and  put  her  hand  in  his  with 
a  whisper  that  she  would  marry  him  whenever  he  wished. 
What  he  said  to  the  shouting,  roaring  house  he  did  not 
know.  He  recollected  pushing  back  the  curtain,  and 
reaching  out  a  hand  for  Wanda.  Then  the  applause 
broke  out  like  a  tropical  rainstorm  on  a  tin  roof,  and  he 
gave  up  all  further  attempt. 

Voynich  was  in  a  frenzy  of  delight. 

*'01ney  did  me  the  finest  turn,"  he  declared  over  and 
over  again.  **01ney  is  my  friend.  He  has  made  an- 
other fortune  for  me.  St.  Ledger!  This  man  from 
Australia  makes  him  look  like  an  also-ran." 

Margaret  waited  in  the  box,  and  in  due  time  Philip 
found  her  there,  w^aiting. 

"Oh,  Phil,"  she  said,  happily,  her  face  radiant. 
She  was  think  of  the  voyage  she  was  about  to  take. 
Nothing  now  stood  between  her  and  home. 

"I've  got  'em,  Margaret,"  he  exulted.  "And 
Vojmich  has  ordered  a  second  play,  to  be  delivered  in 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        299 

four  months.  He's  paid  two  thousand  dollars  in 
advance. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  stupidly.  Her  mind  did  not  take 
in  the  significance  of  what  he  said. 

"But  you'll  be  in  Australia,  in  camp,  dear,"  she  said. 
She  tried  not  to  notice  the  effect  of  her  words.  They 
wiped  the  happy,  excited  look  from  his  face 
instantaeously. 

She  listened  while  he  explained  that  he  must  con- 
solidate the  position  so  hardly  won,  that  one  play  was 
not  enough  for  a  reputation,  while  her  heart  felt  numb, 
and  her  hands  went  cold.  She  noticed  that  the  men 
pulling  the  webbing  over  the  seats  in  the  empty  theatre 
had  pulled  it  crooked  in  one  corner,  and  she  wanted  to 
call  out  and  tell  them.  With  an  effort  she  brought  her 
mind  and  her  eyes  back  to  Philip.  How  could  she  spoil 
his  gay  triumph  with  her  dissappointment  ?  It  was 
true ;  he  had  to  consolidate  his  position.  For  a  wife  to 
be  pulling  him  homewards  eternally  must  be  galling. 
He  would  end  by  detesting  her.  Her  lips  smiled  at 
him,  and  she  drew  her  cloak  round  her. 

"I  suppose  such  an  important  person  must  be  allowed 
his  own  way,"  she  said,  and  she  heard  her  own 
laugh  accompany  the  words.  "But  we'll  have  to  go. 
They'll  be  closing  the  theatre." 

They  went  out  together.  Philip  had  refused  the 
supper  Voynich  wished  to  have  for  a  celebration.  In 
the  street  Margaret  took  his  arm. 

"It  was  simply  wonderful,  darling,"  she  told  him; 
**and  you're  going  to  be  a  famous  person.  But — Phil, 
after  this  next  play,  please — could  I  have  my  little 
home  back  ? ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own! 
Look  at  him  cutting  it — cur  to  the  bone! 
Aslc  ere  the  youngster  ie  rated  and  chidden 
What  did  he  carry,  and  how  was  he  ridden? 
Maybe  they  used  him  too  mw-c/i  at  the  start; 
Maybe  Fate's  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart." 
— In  the  Pride  of  his  Youth 

TWO  things  came  to  Philip  in.  abundance — money 
and  popularity.  New  York  loves  drama  in  real 
life,  and  that  horrible  hour  when  St.  Ledger  was 
waited  for  had  impressed  the  people.  The  pluck  of  the 
dramatist  in  jumping  into  a  leading  part  at  a  moment's 
notice  just  gave  the  necessary  thrill  to  the  situation. 

Voynich,  in  high  good  humor,  insisted  on  paying 
Philip  the  large  salary^  St.  Ledger  had  drawn,  and  in 
addition  he  was  getting  royalties,  so  a  stream  of  dollars 
ran  in  a  flood  into  his  banking  account.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  straitened  life,  since  his  father's  death,  he 
had  command  of  practically  all  the  money  he  wanted. 

Another  stream — a  strong,  racing,  heady  tide  of  social 
adulation,  swirled  and  foamed  around  him,  and  in  it 
he  kept  his  feet  with  difficulty.  He  was  not  so  success- 
ful in  keeping  his  head. 

Reporters  besieged  the  hotel,  avid  for  those  private 
details  which  the  American  best  loves.  The  mail  brought 
shoals  of  invitations.  Margaret  grew  alarmed,  and 
begged  to  go  away  somewhere.  The  prospect  of  unend- 
ing social  wearinesses  appalled  her.  Philip  pointed  out 
that  until  Vo\-nich  got  a  suitable  Baring,  he  must  go  on 
playing.  Finally,  the  matter  arranged  itself  by  the 
merest  chance. 

Away  in  the  heart  of  the  Jersey  woods  a  Sunday  auto 
run  brought  them  to  a  lovely,  old  frame  house,  with 

300 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        801 

deep,  recessed  porches,  and  birch-woods  screening  it 
from  the  road.  A  picturesque,  ice-bound  brook  drew 
an  inky,  wavy  line  across  a  snowy  expanse  of  garden, 
and  from  the  porches  one  looked  across  white  lawn  to 
wide  meadows  and  tree-fringed  river,  which  the  hasten- 
ing Spring  would  warm  into  green  life  and  activity. 

The  roadster  was  one  of  Philip's  first  extravagances. 
A  breathless  run  had  caused  a  temporary  stop  while  a 
hot  engine  cooled. 

"Oh,  Phil,  what  a  dream  of  a  place!"  Margaret 
exclaimed.     "I  could  be  happy  in  a  house  like  that." 

Her  clear,  soft  voice  carried  farther  than  she  was 
aware  in  the  still,  winter  air. 

''Now,  that's  real  nice  of  you,"  and  around  the  comer 
of  the  house,  a  woman  came,  smiling  in  a  friendly  way. 
She  had  a  round,  happy,  candid  face,  beaming  with  good 
humor.  ''Won't  you  folks  come  right  in  and  give  that 
auto  a  chance  to  rest?"  she  said,  winningly.  ''Unless 
they've  et  them  all,  there  ought  to  be  some  hot  biscuits." 

Philip  lifted  his  hat. 

"We  are  Australians,"  he  said,  "and  we  know  just 
enough  about  your  country  to  know  that  in  a  matter 
of  hospitality  you  mean  exactly  what  you  say.  But 
we  wouldn't  like  to  put  you  to  any  trouble.  If  only 
my  wife  could  rest  in  a  warm  room  a  while " 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  she  called.  "No  trouble  at  all.  Don't 
cross  there,  or  the  lady  will  sink  in  the  snow.  Just 
back  a  piece  there's  a  track," 

Margaret  and  she  fell  in  love  with  each  other.  Out- 
side of  books*  Margaret  had  never  heard  anyone  say 
"Pshaw!"  Mrs.  Jessop  used  the  exclamation  constantly 
to  brush  aside  all  objections  to  any  proposition  she 
advanced.  Soon  they  were  all  talking  as  though  they 
had  known  each  other  all  their  lives.  How  it  happened, 
Margaret  and  Philip  did  not  know,  but  when  they  went 
out  to  the  waiting  car,  it  had  been  arranged  that  Mar- 
garet was  to  come  and  board  with  Mrs.  Jessop  and  her 
two  pretty  daughters  at  "Shadow  Lawns." 

For  the  first  time  since  her  arrival  in  the  country, 
Margaret  was  completely  happy.     Philip  would  write 


S02        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Ilia  play,  and  in  this  delightful  spot  she  could  wait 
contentedly. 

That  matter  disposed  of,  Philip  was  free  to  take  up 
the  life  awaiting  him,  and  savor  the  unusual  delight 
of  universal  deference  and  admiration.  The  presence 
of  Margaret  had  irked  him  slightly.  His  conscience 
was  not  quite  at  rest,  and  she  was  a  silent  reproach, 
however  gaily  she  tried  to  disguise  her  feelings. 

He  was  lionized,  in  that  wholesale  and  whole-hearted 
way  in  which  New  York  does  things.  At  first  the  invita- 
tions were  confined  to  the  set  which  revolves  round  the 
White  Lights,  but  as  his  winning  personality  became 
recognized,  more  exclusive  circles  took  him  up.  It  be- 
came an  understood  thing  that  there  was  an  invalid 
wife  in  the  background,  poor  thing — living  somewhere 
in  the  country — no  need  to  include  her  in  the  invitations. 

For  some  time  the  work  of  his  part  kept  Philip  within 
reasonable  bounds.  He  could  not  leave  the  cit.y.  Then 
a  suitable  man  was  found  to  relieve  him.  This  was 
the  opportunity  he  had  proposed  to  himself  for  begin- 
ning the  new  play.  He  had  sent  a  typewriter  and  a 
couple  of  reams  of  paper  down  to  ''Shadow  Lawns." 

But  he  had  been  drawn  into  a  very  maelstrom  of 
social  fixtures.  He  had  the  weakness  that  so  often  accom- 
panies the  popular  man.  He  loved  to  please,  but  he 
loved  to  please  strangers  more  than  those  whose  attitude 
towards  him  he  took  for  granted.  With  a  thoughtless- 
ness that  hurt  Margaret,  he  would  telephone  her  that 
he  could  not  come  down;  he  had  been  caught  by  the 
Ru}i:ers  and  could  not  offend  them.  That  he  offended 
Margaret  did  not  seem  to  him  to  be  nearly  as  important. 
Yet  he  would  not  have  really  cared  if  the  Ruyters  had 
all  been  translated  of  a  sudden  to  Timbuctoo.  He  was 
in  enormous  demand.  Week-ends  at  millionaire  estates 
on  Long  Island,  week-ends  at  golf  at  Tuxedo,  a  promise 
of  a  week  in  the  season  at  Newport,  an  amateur  play 
he  had  promised  to  stage  in  Greenwich  Village,  these 
were  only  a  fraction  of  the  engagements  he  had  made. 

Two  months  went  by  on  wings.  He  had  not  written 
a  line  of  the  play.    He  seldom  went  down  to  Margaret. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        603 

Under  her  careful  avoidance  of  the  topic  he  read  her 
opinion.  It  just  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  start  his  work.  An  enormous  disgust  for  it  had 
seized  him,  a  complete  revulsion  of  feeling.  How  could 
he  possibly  tread  the  long,  hard,  emotional  road  that  had 
produced  'Game  and  Rubber?'  VojTiich  said  himself 
that  it  would  run  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  there  were 
the  English  rights,  for  which  a  man  was  in  treaty.  There 
was  no  actual  need  for  him  to  put  pen  to  paper  for 
at  least  two  years. 

He  was  tracing  familiar  thought  tracks  in  his  mind. 
It  had  been  the  sensation  he  had  craved.  His  hungry 
ambition  had  driven  him  to  the  heights.  What  further 
remained  but  a  series  of  more  or  less  stale  repetitions? 
Never  again  would  he  feel  the  same  emotion  at  the  sight 
of  strained  faces  in  opaque  darkness  listening  to  words 
he  had  penned  made  living  and  potent  by  the  art  of 
the  actor.  That  had  gone  for  ever.  He  watched  them 
now  without  a  thrill.  It  was  as  though  he  were  looking 
at  another  man's  work.  As  with  the  attainment  of  star 
parts  had  come  a  weariness  with  acting,  so  now  had 
come  a  distate  for  writing  plays.  There  were  plenty 
of  other  things  worth  doing.  At  present  he  was  having 
the  time  of  his  life,  and  it  was  up  to  him  to  enjoy  it 
while  he  could.  A  voice  was  ever  in  his  ears,  remind- 
ing him  that  there  was  a  duty  overseas  waiting  for  him, 
but,  when  it  became  over-insistent,  he  plunged  deeper 
into  social  waters.  The  stench  of  War  was  hardly  able 
to  reach  him  through  the  aroma  of  the  sweet  incense 
of  flattery  and  adulation. 

He  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  the  fierce,  singing 
delight  he  had  felt  on  that  far-away  night,  when  the 
theatre  rang  with  his  name.  Then  he  had  resolved  to 
press  on.  He  had  found  himself.  Fame,  unlimited 
Fame,  had  come  to  him,  and  he  had  only  to  work  in 
order  to  maintain  his  place  on  the  narrow  height,  where 
the  fresh,  balmy  breeze  of  popular  applause  blew  so 
invigoratingly.  He  did  not  know  that  the  steadier  blows 
that  breeze,  the  more  enervating  it  is  in  its  effects. 

But  the  pinch  of  prosperity  had  nipped  him  with  its 


304        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

suggestion  that  he  might  snatch  the  benefits  of  success 
without  the  continuous  effort  necessary  to  maintain 
them.  He  went  to  Voynich.  He  had  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  go  down  to  Florida  with  a  party  for  the  end  of 
the  winter. 

*'I  say,  old  chap,"  he  began,  '*I  can't  do  that  play 
within  the  time  we  agreed.  I've  not  had  time  to  touch 
it  yet,  what  with  one  thing  and  another.  You'll  have 
to  give  me  a  couple  of  months'  extension," 

Voynich  looked  at  him. 

"I  paid  you  two  thousand  bucks  in  advance,"  he  said, 
"and  I  expect  you  to  come  up  to  scratch.  Time!  You'd 
have  had  time  if  you  hadn't  been  burning  it  with  a 
bunch  of  Fift'  Avenoo  plutocrats." 

Philip  flared.     He  whipped  out  his  check-book. 

"Here's  your  two  thousand,"  he  declared  grandly. 
"Now  we're  quits  and  I  can  please  myself  what  I  do 
with  my  time." 

He  handed  the  check  to  Voynich,  who  stared  at  him 
grimly,  and  slowly  tore  the  check  in  half. 

"You  get  busy  on  your  contract,  young  feller,"  he 
said,  "or  I'm  goin'  to  show  you  there's  Courts  can 
protect  me.  You  can't  get  even  with  your  obligations 
by  repudiatin'  them,  not  in  this  countr3\" 

In  the  end  Voynich  gave  him  the  extension  he  re- 
quired. A  play  written  to  order  by  a  sulky  author  is 
not  of  much  value. 

Philip  went  to  Florida.  Margaret  was  not  feeling 
strong  enough  to  go,  though  he  did  ask  her.  With  the 
idle,  delightful  people  at  Palm  Beach,  Philip  played  and 
swam  and  boated  and  danced,  and  not  a  thought  of 
Voynich  came  to  disturb  him.    He  stayed  a  month. 

On  his  return  he  went  out  to  "Shadow  Lawns." 
He  thought  Margaret  looked  uncommonly  well.  She 
smiled.  Why  bother  him  with  ailments?  He  had  to 
hurry  back  to  New  York,  He  was  directing  a  pageant 
at  Madison  Square  Garden,  and  was  indispensable. 

"But  the  pla}^,  Phil?    You've  only  another  month." 

"By  Jove,  so  I  have.  April's  nearly  over.  How 
time  flies.     Oh,  that's  all  right.     Vojmich  will  have  to 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        505 

give  me  a  further  extension."  He  was  quite  easy  at  the 
solution. 

' '  But  have  you  given  up  all  idea  of  joining  up,  Phil  ? ' ' 
she  asked. 

Anger  smouldered  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Rather  rum  to  hear  you  chasing  me  off  to  the  War, 
Margaret,  I  must  say.  Of  course  I'm  going  to  join  up; 
but  give  a  fellow  a  chance.  I'm  just  at  the  point  when 
I've  got  to  be  on  deck  here.  Our  whole  future  depends 
on  how  things  go  now.  I've  only  this  big  opportunity 
once,  and  I  owe  it  to  you  to " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Phil,  don't  say  'consolidate  your 
position,'  or  I'll  scream.  You  poor  old  darling,  don't 
you  see  you're  having  your  clever  old  nut  turned  with 
all  your  social  success?  We  read  about  you  in  the 
Sunday  papers,  and  Norma  is  cutting  out  your  photo- 
graphs. She  has  over  three  hundred.  Don't  develop 
that  line  too  much,  dear  boy,  it's  so  bad  for  the  sense 
of  humor. 

"I  don't  see  what  you've  to  worry  about,"  he  said, 
with  dignity.  "I've  made  a  success  after  all.  Other 
people  think  so,  if  you  don't." 

She  looked  at  him  reflectively. 

"Do  you  remember  the  first  time  we  met,  Philip?" 
she  asked  him,  soberly.  "You  spoke  of  your  ambitions. 
You  said  you  fought  to  win.  It  was  the  winning  that 
intrigued  you." 

"I  remember.    Well,  I've  won." 

**You  also  implied  that  when  one  world  was  con- 
quered, you  set  out  to  conquer  another — remember?" 
she  inquired. 

"With  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men?" 
A  smile  at  the  recollection  chased  away  his  annoyance. 

"Yes,  and  you  said  there  was  a  suggestion  of 
Humpty-Dumpty  about  that.  I  remember  I  thought 
at  the  time  it  was  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  jumpy  career, 
and  implied  a  good  deal  of  abandonment  of  conquered 
territory.  Well,  it  has  come  to  me  lately,  Philip,  that 
I  am  part  of  the  conquered  territory.  I  did  represent 
one  of  your  fierce  ambitions,  didn't  I?" 


306        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"That  hasn't  changed,"  he  said,  sensing  where  she 
was  approaching. 

''I  think  it  has.  It  changed  very  soon  after  I  was 
conquered.  You  began  on  new  territory.  I  displaced 
the  stage,  and  your  plays  displaced  me.  Now  you  have 
got  all  you  can  out  of  them,  and  something  else  is  elbow- 
ing them  away — all  this  empty  popularity  is  becoming 
to  you  almost  a  career." 

* '  Oh,  nonsense,  Margaret.  Is  a  chap  never  to  have  a 
bit  of  a  holiday?  Surely  you'll  admit  that  at  least  I 
have  succeeded?" 

''I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind  about  that,  Phil. 
You've  succeeded  up  to  a  point.  You've  proved  that 
you  can  write  a  popular  play.  But  life  means  more  than 
isolated  achievements.  You've  built  nothing  up.  You 
have  shirked  the  big  things  in  favor  of  a  number  of 
glittering  trifles  which  mean  very  little  in  the  lump. 
I've  simply  got  to  talk  like  this,  my  dear " 

"But  I  can't  follow  you  at  all,"  he  replied,  with  an 
irritable  shake  of  the  head.  Under  correction  he  was 
always  inclined  to  chafe.  "All  my  man's  life  I  have 
had  before  me  one  object — to  win  a  name  for  my- 
self  " 

She  interrupted  him. 

"Don't  you  see  that's  just  the  whole  crux  of  the  mat- 
ter, Phil?  You  have  wished  to  dazzle.  The  name  of 
Lee  must  stand  for  something  that  glitters.  But  that 
isn't  success.  There's  no  stability  about  it.  Fireworks 
make  a  noise  and  a  flash,  but  for  essential  purposes  they 
are  useless.  To  me,  watching  you  collect  your  forces 
after  your  big  little  triumph  in  the  play  and  march 
off  importantly  in  the  belief  that  you  have  made  your 
career,  you  are  as  pathetic  as  Humpty-Dumpty,  only 
you  don't  know  you  are  smashed  yet.  But  you  are, 
you  are,  unless  you  have  the  grit  to  seize  life  as  a  whole, 
and  not  just  a  shining  piece  of  it." 

"You  don't  help  a  fellow  much,  Margaret.  All  New 
York  is  talking  of  me,  but  you  seem  to  see  something 
humorous  in  me." 

She  laughed  suddenly. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        307 

"I  think  I  do,  Phil.  You're  taking  it  all  so  seriously, 
except  the  part  you  ought  to  take  seriously.  I  want  you 
to  keep  on,  and  make  a  real  success — consolidate  your 
position,  if  you  like, ' '  and  she  smiled  at  him  with  gentle 
raillery,  but  he  did  not  respond.  "What  I  don't  like 
to  see  is  all  this  tootling  round  with  millionaires.  That 
does  seem  funny  to  me,  when  you  might  be  working  on 
your  contract  and  preparing  to  get  back  to  Australia 
and  what  is  waiting  for  you  there.  All  these  pictures  in 
the  papers  seem  humorous  to  me — sometimes.  Other 
times  they  don't.  Peter  is  not  doing  much  social  visiting, 
you  see." 

It  was  the  hardest  thing  she  have  ever  said  to  him, 
and  it  came  from  the  depths  of  a  nature  that  always 
sought  his  highest  good.  It  cut  her  to  see  him  wince 
with  quick  pain.  But  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  smart  is 
sometimes  salutary.  It  was  such  an  unworthy  thing  that 
he  should  think  achievement  in  life  was  a  matter  of 
witty  after-dinner  speeches,  while  the  guns  in  Europe 
were  calling  in  booming  tones,  and  offering  men  careers 
which  were  worthiest  when  mo^  greatly  closed. 

Philip  left  her,  sore  but  shamed.  Perhaps  he  was  only 
a  dazzling  firework.  Men's  opinions  and  praises  mat- 
tered to  him  infinitely  more  than  they  should.  All  that 
was  finest  in  him  rose  to  the  surface  when  his  brief  anger 
had  spent  itself.  But  try  as  he  would  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  undertake  the  drudgery  of  Voynich's  play. 
His  interpretation  of  Margaret's  meaning  was  that  she 
despised  such  trivial  employments,  while  real  jobs  were 
going  begging  in  Europe.  A  desire  rose  in  his  mind  for 
a  place  among  his  fellows.  It  was  really  the  first  tug- 
ging of  a  newer  desire,  the  pull  of  a  fresh  opportunity. 
Even  in  his  abasement,  his  mind  functioned  true  to  his 
nature. 

He  had  been  so  beautifully  unconscious  of  his  recent 
attitude,  till  he  had  seen  his  reflection  in  Margaret's 
eyes — a  cock  on  a  dunghill.  Unknowingly  he  had 
strutted;  he  had  crowed,  thinking  he  had  a  right  to  a 
deciding  opinion.  It  was  natural.  And  possibly,  had 
there  not  been  a  "War,  Margaret  would  have  considered 


308        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

his  gestures  becoming.  As  it  was  they  overshadowed  his 
natural  dignity. 

In  the  next  few  days  he  saw  a  good  deal  of  Wanda 
Lara.  There  he  had  met  his  old  acquaintance,  the  great 
Ingleby,  who  had  come  over  to  arrange  for  a  London 
production  of  "Game  and  Kubber." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Lee,  haven't  we  had  the  pleasure  before?" 
he  said,  with  urbane  condescension,  holding  out  two 
fingers.  Philip  maliciously  gave  him  one  in  return, 
and  pleasurably  noted  that  he  had  scored.  The  neces- 
sity of  completing  the  negotiations,  which  included  the 
engagement  of  Wanda,  brought  about  frequent  meetings. 
Their  names  were  coupled  once  more.  The  indifference 
he  felt  rendered  him  careless  of  appearances.  The  gossip 
did  not  reach  him  till  the  mischief  was  done.  He  had 
never  ceased  to  believe  in  her,  and  that  to  her  tact 
and  magnificent  acting  he  owed  his  position. 

On  the  last  day  of  April  he  wandered  into  the  Actors* 
Club.  He  had  lately  become  aware  of  a  faint  atmosphere 
of  hostility.  The  Gallipoli  Landing  had  been  the  theme 
of  conversation  of  this  last  week  of  April,  and  war  talk 
raged.  Several  English  actors  were  in  New  York,  whose 
presence  the  sensitive  Americans  resented. 

When  Philip  entered  the  reading-room,  there  was  a 
general  nudging  and  winking  and  peering.  He  put  no 
particular  construction  on  this.  He  went  over  to  the 
letter-rack,  as  was  his  custom,  and  idly  scanned  the 
notice  board.    As  he  looked,  his  glance  became  fixed. 

A  notice  had  been  newly  pinned  to  the  board.  This 
then  was  the  object  of  all  that  pantomime.  Behind  him 
he  was  conscious  of  several  smiling,  furtive  faces.  He 
marveled  at  the  taste  which  could  allow  such  a  black- 
guardly thing  to  remain  in  position.  He  put  a  hand 
inside  the  glass  frame,  and  tore  the  paper  down,  crush- 
ing it  in  his  hand.     It  ran: — 

NOTICE. 

To  Whom  It  May  Concern. 

An  offer  has  been  made  by  a  member  of  this 
Club  to  defray  the  passage    (single)    of   any 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        609 

Britisher  who  may  be  desirous  of  fighting  for 
his  country.  France  cannot  do  it  all.  The 
following  are  eligible: — 

There  followed  a  list  of  names,  in  which  Philip's 
was  prominent. 

He  faced  the  room  gravely.  It  was  Philip  at  his 
very  best. 

"I  don't  know  the  name  of  the  scoundrel  who  put 
that  up  there,"  he  said,  cuttingly.  "In  England  there 
is  a  thing  called  'good  form.'  Some  day  it  may  reach 
New  York,  and  you  may  then  realize  that  such  a  notice 
as  that  could  only  have  originated  in  a  club  outside  a 
British  country.  There  are  six  names  on  that  paper. 
One  is  that  of  a  man  whose  only  son  was  killed  three 
months  ago;  three  others  are  over  military  age;  the 
fifth  was  rejected  as  medically  unfit,  and  I  am  left.  I 
don't  bother  to  defend  my  own  position.  Will  any  real 
man  tell  me  who  put  that  notice  there?" 

His  quiet,  even  voice,  without  passion,  but  with  scorn 
in  every  syllable,  echoed  in  the  quiet  room. 

"Why  the  hell  don't  you  take  advantage  of  the  offer, 
an'  go  over,  Lee?"  Philip  turned  to  the  speaker,  a 
man  whose  proffers  of  friendship  he  had  turned  down. 

"That's  my  business.  Archer.  I'm  not  worrying 
about  the  insult  to  me.  It's  true  in  a  way.  I've  been 
fooling  here  too  long,  and  I  admit  it.  But  I  do  worry 
about  poor  old  Moore.  Will  no  one  tell  me  who  was 
responsible?" 

There  was  a  silence.    St.  Ledger  grinned  maliciously. 

"Very  well,  I  must  take  it  to  the  Committee.  Perhaps 
they  won't  father  such  a  beastly  thing." 

He  walked  from  the  club.  He  was  deeply  moved.  He 
knew  he  was  not  free  from  fault.  He,  and  he  alone  of 
those  six  men,  could  have  offered  himself.  He  was  deter- 
mined to  go  back  to  Australia  at  once.  He  would  give 
Voynich  back  his  money,  and  pay  a  forfeit  for  the  new 
play.  Margaret  and  he  must  be  able  to  look  their 
friends  in  the  face,  at  all  costs. 

He  went  to  see  Wanda.     The  anonymous  letter  to 


810        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

Margaret  had  disclosed  curious  writing.  He  would 
know  it  again.  The  envelope  had  been  of  the  distinctive 
kind  that  the  Club  provided  for  plain  correspondence. 
The  water-mark  betrayed  it.  Now  came  this  last  thing, 
which  was  obviously  meant  for  a  stab  at  him.  The 
perpetrator  must  have  known  just  as  he  knew  of  the 
disabilities  of  the  other  men.  It  came  into  his  mind 
that  Ferrero  might  be  responsible.  The  evil  that  looked 
out  from  his  eyes  was  capable  of  anything.  Lately  he 
met  him  several  times  at  Wanda's,  and  had  noticed  a 
hostility  held  in  leash,  as  it  were.  Perhaps  Wanda 
might  be  able  to  show  him  some  of  Ferrero 's  writing. 

He  found  her  alone.  After  some  general  talk  on 
ordinary  subjects,  he  broached  the  reason  for  his  visit, 
in  a  casual  way. 

She  went  to  a  desk,  and  took  out  a  note,  which  she 
handed  to  him.  It  was  an  invitation  from  Ferrero  to 
supper.  There  was  no  possible  doubt.  Ferrero  had 
written  the  letter  to  Margaret.  In  his  own  mind,  Philip 
felt  sure  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  other  enormity. 

He  rose  to  go.  Quite  as  an  after-thought,  he  told 
Wanda  of  his  pending  departure.  There  came  a  quick 
change  in  her.  She  fought  for  self  control,  but  worda 
tumbled  out  of  her — foolish  words  that  betrayed  what 
Philip  had  come  to  mean  for  her.  She  had  come  into 
the  cage  to  the  animal,  instead  of  staying  outside  the 
safe  bars.  For  the  animal  had  taken  no  notice.  Wanda 
had  been  piqued  into  a  passion  that  took  no  account 
of  anything  but  its  gratification. 

To  say  Philip  was  astonished  would  be  a  beggarly 
description.  Luckily  he  was  not  put  to  the  humiliating 
role  of  a  Joseph,  because  interruption  came.  Wanda 
had  taken  hold  of  his  hand  as  he  rose,  and  had  thrown 
the  other  arm  around  him,  her  face  imploringly  held 
up  to  hira. 

At  this  stage  the  door  opened.  In  the  emotional 
tension  neither  of  them  had  heard  footsteps.  Koger 
Ferrero  stood  there  a  moment,  looking  at  them  with 
furious,  mocking  eyes.  A  diobolical  smile  indicated  his 
interpretation  of  the  situation. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        811 

**Ah,  I  interrupt.  A  thousand  pardons,"  lie  said, 
and  closed  the  door  softly.  Philip  started  after  him, 
but  Wanda's  clinging  arms  impeded  his  progress,  and 
he  heard  the  elevator  clang  in  the  corridor.  But  he 
determined  to  seek  the  man  without  delay. 

It  was  not  easy  to  persmade  Wanda  that  this  was  the 
only  prudent  course.  She  was  full  of  terror  at  the 
outcome. 

''Far  better  do  nothing,  Philip,"  she  urged.  "He 
terrifies  me.  There  is  nothing  he  will  not  do  if  he  is 
driven  to  it." 

"All  the  more  reason  to  find  him  before  the  beast  can 
open  his  mouth,"  said  Philip. 

He  had  not  a  word  of  reproach  for  the  woman  whose 
fault  had  thrust  him  into  such  an  invidious  position. 
Noblesse  oblige!  But  in  his  inmost  heart  he  wondered 
What  imp  drove  women  that  they  did  such  amazingly 
idiotic  things. 

An  instinct  led  him  to  the  club  once  more.  It  was  a 
favorite  lounging  place  of  Ferrero's. 

He  was  right.  The  man  was  laughing  and  talking 
with  a  couple  of  friends,  over  drinks.  Philip  sat  down, 
keeping  himself  in  control.  If  possible  he  did  not  want 
to  make  a  scene. 

One  of  the  men  broke  into  a  laugh.  Ferrero  had  been 
speaking  in  a  low  tone,  with  free  gestures.  The  laugh 
that  greeted  his  story  was  the  sort  that  indicates  only 
one  thing — amusement  at  an  obscenity.  Philip  pricked 
up  his  ears.  The  second  man  was  speaking,  after  a 
deliberate  stare  around. 

"Watch  your  step,  Roger.  He's  miad  enough  to  eat 
the  guy  that  put  up  that  notice,"  he  said. 

"What  in  hell  do  they  want  to  come  over  here  for, 
when  they've  got  a  man's  job  waiting  for  them  on 
their  own  side  of  the  water?"  asked  the  first,  in  a 
voice  which  he  did  not  trouble  to  keep  low. 

St.  Ledger  looked  up  with  a  chuckle.  He  was  reading 
at  one  of  the  tables. 

"Oh,  it's  a  sort  of  wanderlust  that  catches  'em,  just 


312        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

when  Old  Man  Trouble  is  getting  after  them,"  ha 
laughc-u. 

Ferrero  looked  round,  with  a  loud,  high  laugh. 

"Wanderlust!"  he  exclaimed,  giving  the  word  its 
German  pronunciation,  like  St.  Ledger.  **Ah,  no,  surely 
this  is  more  a  matter  of  Wandalust. " 

With  a  passionate  fury  Philip  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
stood  before  the  men. 

"You  low  blackguard!"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you 
were  responsible  for  that  notice,  as  well  as  for  this  last 
slander, ' ' 

Ferrero  blew  an  insolent  smoke  ring. 

"I  certainly  am  ready  to  pay  my  share  of  your  pas- 
sage money,  if  you  will  go  and  fight,"  he  said,  and 
smiled  e\i\y. 

Philip  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  building.  He 
was  raging  dumbly. 

He  went  into  a  store. 

*  *  I  want  a  whip, ' '  he  said,  curtly. 

"Yes,  sir.  A  dog- whip  or  a  horse-whip?"  smiled  the 
salesman. 

"For  a  cur.  A  dog- whip — have  you  whalebone? — 
I  want  it  to  last  some  time." 

"The  very  thing,  sir.    We  sell  a  lot  of  these." 

Philip  took  the  lithe,  pliable  thing,  that  would  bend 
lovingly  round  a  body,  and  thrust  it,  all  unwrapped,  into 
his  pocket.  Then,  with  rapid,  purposeful  steps,  he  strode 
back  to  the  Club. 

Ferrero  was  in  the  midst  of  a  laughing  story,  sitting 
down,  with  four  or  five  men  standing  round  him.  Philip 
broke  into  the  group  without  ceremony.  He  seized 
St.  Ledger  by  the  shoulder,  and  thrust  him  aside.  Then 
he  jerked  Ferrero  to  his  feet  with  a  hand  that  took  a 
firm  clutch  on  the  collar  of  his  coat. 

The  man's  hands  felt  for  Philip's  throat,  but  fell 
away  as  rapid,  flailing,  cutting  strokes  fell  on  him.  The 
short  whip  was  a  terrible  instrument  of  punishment. 

Luckily  it  is  an  instinct  with  men  to  allow  two  an- 
tagonists to  fight  out  their  battles  without  interference. 
The  scream  of  mortal  fear  and  pain  Ferrero  uttered 


THE  ASHES  OF.  ACHIEVEMENT        613 

brought  men  tumbling  from  adjoining  rooms.  Excited, 
swaying,  muttering,  the  crowd  watched  the  most  un- 
merciful thrashing  they  had  ever  seen  administered. 

Finally,  with  his  arm  aching  from  the  unaccustomed 
exercise,  Philip  flung  the  screaming,  tortured,  sobbing 
thing  away  from  him,  and  his  strained,  white  knuckles 
tightened  over  the  whip,  as  he  faced  the  circle  of  men. 

**That  beast  slandered  a  woman;  he  insulted  five 
countrymen  of  mine  who  were  enjoying  your  hospitality 
in  this  Club.  In  that  he  insulted  you.  There  was  a 
third  reason,  private  between  us  both,  and  for  the  three 
I  have  taken  it  out  of  his  hide.  I  suppose  I  have  broken 
a  few  rules,  so  I'm  going  to  resign.  Has  anyone  any- 
thing to  say  to  me  ? " 

His  flashing,  challenging  eye  swept  the  inquiry  round 
the  crowd.  Few  would  have  cared  to  "say  anything" 
to  him,  as  he  tapped  the  whalebone  against  his  boot," 
with  a  most  inviting  expression  on  his  face. 

**I'm  here  to  say  he  got  what  was  coming  to  him, 
Lee,"  a  man  said,  stepping  forward.  "There's  a  pesti- 
ferous bunch  in  this  Club  who  have  it  in  for  you  fellows. 
But  please  get  this  right.  There's  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  us 
who  won't  stand  for  a  raw  deal  like  Ferrero  handed 
out  to  you.  "We  go  to  you,  and  you  treat  us  right,  and, 
by  thunder,  when  you  come  here,  you'll  be  treated  right. 
I  'm  a  committeeman  here,  and  I  give  you  my  word  there 
will  be  an  inquiry,  and  every  last  man  concerned  in 
that  notice  stunt  will  be  expelled  from  this  Club.  Here's 
my  fist  on  it." 

Philip  grasped  his  hand. 

"Thanks,  I'm  sure  of  it.  This  is  too  fine  a  Club  to 
let  a  few  rotters  spoil  it.  I'm  just  off  home  to  Aus- 
tralia, and  I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  hospitality  I've 
received.     I  won't  have  another  opportunity." 

He  looked  around  him,  nodded  to  a  few  acquain- 
tances; then,  doubling  the  whip  in  his  pocket,  left  the 
room.  Not  for  a  long  time  had  he  felt  such  an 
exhilaration. 

"Damn  it;  I  believe  I'm  hankering  for  violence,"  he 
thought.    "I  feel  keen  to  get  at  somebody  else.    I  hope 


514        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

this  lasts  till  I  get  to  the  Germans.    It  '11  be  no  end  of  a 
lark." 

With  the  satisfied,  jaunty  swing  of  a  happy  man  he 
walked  down  Broadway  in  the  direction  of  the  shipping 
offices. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

**  'How  far  from  St.  Helena,  to  the  Gate  of  Heaven's  Grace f* 
That  no  one  knows — tJiat  no  one  Jcnows — and  no  one  ever  will. 
But  fold  your  hands  across  your  heart  and  cover  up  your  face, 
And  after  all  your  trapesings,  child,  lie  still." 

— A  St.  Helena  Lullaby 

THAT  evening  Philip  spent  with  Margaret.  He  had 
taken  passage  back  to  Australia,  and  conceived 
the  thought  of  giving  his  wife  a  surprise.  Some- 
how she  seemed  nearer  to  him  than  she  had  been  for 
months.  It  was  as  if  his  brain  had  been  swept  of  a 
mdasma,  and  was  enabled  to  take  cognizance  of  the 
sweet,  clean  things  of  life  once  more. 

As  he  drove  through  the  little,  fenceless  suburb  whose 
gardens  were  just  showing  green  patches  through  the 
melting  snow,  something  of  the  joy  and  the  spirit  of 
the  Spring  that  had  come  descended  on  him.  Buds  were 
bursting  on  the  avenue  in  that  magic  way  which  so 
thrills  the  visitor  from  the  warmer  southern  lands. 

Margaret  welcomed  him  with  warmth,  in  which  was  a 
tinge  of  surprise.  He  was  in  magnificent  spirits;  with 
a  laugh  of  sheer  pleasure  he  seized  her  and  held  her  up, 
kissing  her  in  quite  the  old,  lover  like  way,  as  he  released 
her.  Mrs.  Jessop  and  Norma  bustled  about  in  prepara- 
tions for  his  supper. 

''First  Single  for  Contentment  Road!  Hurry  up, 
there!    Take  your  seats!"  he  chanted. 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

*' Oh,  Phil!    Don't!"  she  begged. 

*'0h,  but  I  mean  it.  Here,  catch  hold!"  He  tossed 
the  precious  document  to  her,  and  she  read  it  with 
incredulous,  joyful  eyes. 

*'But — ^but ,"  was  all  she  could  say.     Then  she 

sprang  up  and  launched  herself  at  him. 

81S 


316        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

"If  you  aren't  the  dearest  thing!"  she  cried,  and 
hugged  him  with  rapture.  It  was  the  keynote  for  the 
evening.  It  passed  in  laughter  and  badinage.  Norma 's 
dark  beauty  glowed  with  the  joy  of  having  the  great 
man  so  entirely  to  themselves,  and  Margaret  was  like 
a  schoolgirl, 

Philip  could  not  stay.  He  went  to  see  VojTiich  on 
the  morrow  and  wind  up  all  his  business.  In  two  days 
they  must  be  on  the  way  to  Vancouver  to  join  their  boat. 
Margaret  made  no  attempt  to  keep  him.  Sufficient  unto 
the  day  was  her  joy. 

Not  a  word  had  Philip  uttered  with  regard  to  the 
incident  of  the  afternoon.  That  was  closed.  Only  his 
utter  folly  had  brought  it  about,  and  of  that  he  had 
made  an  end.  The  thing  could  be  buried  in  oblivion. 
He  was  extremely  unlikely  to  meet  Ferrero  again.  As 
for  Wanda,  he  would  'phone  his  farewells. 

He  switched  on  the  light  in  his  sitting-room,  leaving 
the  door  open.  The  clock  showed  it  was  midnight.  Just 
as  he  was  about  to  go  into  the  bedroom,  he  noticed  the 
letters  which  had  come  by  the  evening  delivery.  Idly 
he  ran  them  through  his  fingers.  They  were  mostly 
invitations — pretty,  fantastic,  scented  envelopes.  Yester- 
day they  would  have  brought  him  pleasure.  They  were 
a  part  of  his  triumph.  Now  he  tossed  them  aside.  When 
the  functions  to  which  they  bade  him  were  in  full  career, 
he  and  Margaret  would  be  swinging  along  on  the  Pacific, 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Southern  Cross.  Then  he 
noticed  that  one  of  the  missives  was  a  cablegram.  Peter 
jumped  to  his  mind.  In  those  evil  days,  for  ever  gone, 
a  cablegram  was  a  thing  of  ill  omen. 

He  opened  it,  with  dark  foreboding. 

*' Regret  advise  you  Sir  Arthur  Lee  killed  in 
action  Gallipoli.  We  await  your  instructions  in 
this  matter.  Suggest  you  cross  to  London  immedi- 
ately. Wiseman  and  Cranch,  Solicitors,  Devonshire 
Square,  Bishopgate." 

"Arthur!"  He  uttered  the  name  aloud,  in  his  sud- 
den shock.     It  was  a  curious  circumstance  that  in  all 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        S17 

the  speculations  he  had  made  on  the  changes  the  "War 
was  to  bring  to  him  and  his  friends,  this  most  likely 
possibility  had  never  occurred  to  him.  His  eyes  smarted. 
His  cousin's  boyish  face  had  suddenly  swum  into  his 
vision.  In  his  ears  he  heard,  almost  as  though  Arthur 
were  in  the  room,  the  familiar  drawl — "Oh,  absolutely !" 
Dead!  The  significance  of  the  immense  blood-offering 
on  those  cliffs  of  Anzac  came  bitterly  home  to  him  with 
the  news  of  the  passing  of  just  one  Englishman. 

He  looked  at  the  cablegram  again.  Who  were  Wise- 
man and  Cranch?  Solicitors!  Why  cable  him?  How 
had  they  known  where  to  send?  Of  course  Arthur 
knew.  He  and  Margaret  had  written  regularly.  Why, 
good  God !  Of  course !  He  was  the  heir.  It  seemed  an 
incredible  thing  in  the  retrospect  that  neither  he  nor 
Margaret  had  ever  spoken  of  that  possibility,  Arthur's 
heir!  Did  one  ever  think  of  heirs  in  connection  with  a 
youngster  in  the  full  flush  of  health?  Poor  old  Mar- 
garet !  This  would  cut  her  up  terribly.  She  had  simply 
adored  the  chap.  Her  busy  hands  were  forever  knitting, 
either  for  him  or  Peter.  A  step  made  him  wheel  round 
sharply.  A  man  walked  into  the  room,  a  youngster  with 
an  elert,  impudent,  acute  air,  who  kept  his  hat  on. 

**I'm  the  Chanticleer,  Mist'  Lee,  and  I  gotta  get  some 
dope  from  you,  if  you'll  talk  for  publication." 

His  steady  eyes  coolly  looked  Philip  from  toe  to  head, 
in  a  long  unwinking  stare. 

Philip  knew  the  paper,  one  of  the  Yellow  group.  Some 
people  thought  it  sparkling.  If  it  possessed  that  quality, 
it  was  the  glitter  of  the  phosphoresence  that  putridity 
makes.  It  was  formed  to  exploit  the  sorrows,  the  sins, 
the  mistakes  of  men  and  women.  It  had  many  imitators, 
but  none  could  approach  it  in  unblushing  effrontery, 
in  its  execrable  taste,  in  its  shameless  perversions. 
It  made  a  merit  of  telling  the  whole  story  in  its  head- 
lines. 

**I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  Philip. 

The  youngster  smiled.  Then  his  eye  caught  sight  of 
the  cablegram,  lying  within  his  close  view  on  the  table. 
With  the  colossal  impudence,  of  which  only  his  class  in 


318        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

his  owTi  country  could  be  capable,  lie  calmly  read  it, 
and  remarked: 

''When  we're  through  with  this  other  affair.  I  gotta 
got  something  on  that.  Looks  kinder  intrestin'.  Now, 
about  this  Ferrero  stuff.    Where  do  I  get  off?" 

''Through  that  door,"  replied  Fhillip.  "I  told  you 
I  had  nothing  to  say.     Clear  out!" 

**Say,  you've  got  me  all  wrong.  Do  you  think  I  c'n 
go  back  to  tlie  boss,  an'  tell  him  I  quit  'cos  I  got  a 
tap  on  the  wrist?  No,  sir!  I  come  prepared  for  a  bit 
of  rough-housing,  like  you  gave  Ferrero.  Say,  I'm  goin' 
to  tell  you  I'm  strong  for  you.  'Stime  someone  steered 
that  bum  up  agin  real  trouble.  Lemme  m^ake  it  easy  for 
you.  Mist'  Lee.  We  gotta  lot  of  stuff  from  the  Ferrero 
end  of  it,  and  it's  real  kind  of  us  to  give  you  a  chance 
to  come  across  with  your  side.    Huh?    What  about  it?" 

Had  Philip  been  wiser  he  would  have  met  the  reporter 
on  his  own  ground,  and  talked  the  whole  thing  out.  The 
New  York  journalist  is  very  susceptible  to  a  "man-to- 
man" attitude.  Treat  him  well  and  he'll  treat  you 
well,  Philip  took  the  umbrage  his  British  training 
enjoined.  To  him  a  man  who  interfered  in  a  private 
matter  was  a  bounder,  and  in  an  Englishman's  code, 
to  be  a  bounder  is  to  earn  the  maximum  of  contempt. 

"Publish  what  you  please  and  be  damned  to  you," 
he  said.  "I'm  going  to  give  you  half-a-minute  to  clear 
out  of  this;  then  I'm  going  to  get  into  action." 

Not  a  muscle  moved  in  the  face  of  the  youth. 

"That's  all  right  then,"  he  said;  "I  just  got  half  a 
minute  to  get  the  strength  of  that  wire.  Sir  Arthur  Lee ! 
Relation  of  yours  that  would  be,  now?"  He  cocked 
his  head  on  one  side,  in  an  enquiring  way. 

Philip  turned  his  back  on  him.  Quick  as  thought  the 
reporter  bent  down  and  read  the  cablegram  to  fix  it  in 
his  mind. 

"Father?"  he  suggested.  Philip's  back  was  uncom- 
promising. 

"Easy  look  him  up  in  your  pedigree  book,"  remarked 
the  Chanticleer  man.  "Reckon  from  this  you've  got 
a  finger  in  the  pie  the  lawyers  are  cuttin'  up.     Make 


^ 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        319 

a  sftory  of  it,  anyhow.  Well,  I  guess  this  will  ease  the 
old  man,  when  I  come  lopin'  in  without  the  Ferrero 
dope.    Only  you  won't  like  what  we're  printin'." 

*'Get  to  blazes  out  of  this!"  stormed  Philip,  at  the 
end  of  his  resources  of  patience. 

''I'm  off,"  said  the  other,  easily.  **You  British  is 
sure  clams  when  it  comes  to  shootin'  out  an  explanation. 
Well,  sleep  sound;  you'll  need  it." 

Ferrero 's  first  action,  when  he  reached  his  hotel, 
whither  he  had  been  conveyed  by  St.  Ledger,  had  been 
to  call  up  the  Chanticleer  office,  and  ask  them  to  send 
a  man  along.  Then  he  told  his  story,  skilfully  and  at 
length. 

A  few  garbled  facts  about  Margaret  completed  the 
ingredients  of  this  hell's  brew.  She  was  living  apart 
from  her  husband,  said  Ferrero.  His  licentious  life 
had  disgusted  her,  and  she  was  about  to  sue  for  a  divorce. 

The  reporter  went  away  to  get  Philip's  story.  His 
absence  at  ''Shadow  Lawns"  postponed  the  interview. 

It  was  balm  to  Ferrero 's  wounds  to  know  that  in  the 
morning  Philip  would  be  pointed  at  and  shunned,  and 
he  well  knew  his  adopted  nation,  when  he  planned  his 
revenge.  Not  even  the  British  are  so  fiercely  moral  as 
the  American  people.  In  New  York  there  is  a  periodicity 
about  these  attacks  of  propriety.  The  idea  seems  to  be 
that  immorality  may  injure  the  individuals  concerned, 
but  scandal  and  discovery  injure  the  nation.  Moral 
Comstocks  armed  with  baldish  brooms  every  now  and 
then  emerge  from  the  City  Hall  and  make  Parting- 
tonian  dabs  at  the  ocean  of  depravity  which  leaves  the 
shores  of  the  city.  The  ocean  is  not  seriously  disturbed, 
but  the  Comstocks  derive  intense  gratification  from  the 
forays. 

There  was  a  separate  portion  of  his  revenge  which 
Ferrero  did  not  mention  to  either  the  reporter  or  St. 
Ledger.  Wanda  Lara  was  his  property,  bought  and 
paid  for.  In  his  own  way,  he  prized  this  woman.  He, 
and  he  alone,  had  had  the  courage  to  laugh  at  her  rebuffs 
— to  rush  her  defenses — to  master  her  completely.  She 
had  acknowledged  his  property  rights  in  her.    For  him 


320        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

her  pale  face  had  reddened  under  his  kisses.  Yet  she 
had  thought  that  he  might  be  discarded  like  these 
Yankees;  that  he  would  tamely  accept  his  dismissal, 
when  Lee  came  along.  With  the  clear  vision  his  knowl- 
edge of  her  gave  him,  so  different  from  the  superficial 
acquaintance  which  was  all  she  had  vouchsafed  to  others, 
the  Italian  saw  that  Lee  had  touched  her  heart.  Never 
before  had  Perrero  to  wait  on  her  convenience ;  never 
had  she  dared  to  show  him  a  complete  disdain.  Yet  she 
had  done  both  these  things  since  Lee  had  come  into  her 
life.  It  was  clear  that  she  had  played  him  false.  She 
must  be  punished.  What  would  break  Lee  would  not 
touch  her.  An  actress  can  still  charm,  with  or  without 
a  reputation.  Something  different  must  be  devised  for 
a  faithless  woman.  All  the  passion  in  his  tempestuous 
mind  rose  and  clouded  his  judgment.  His  was  the 
temperament  that  brings  about  newspaper  tragedies. 
Melodrama — excitement — publicity — all  these  make  an 
irresistible  appeal  to  a  mind  in  which  intelligence  only 
exists  to  subserve  the  call  of  the  senses. 

When  Philip  came  down  next  morning  to  breakfast 
the  whole  false,  malicious  thing  was  blazoned  on  the 
front  page  of  the  Chanticleer,  in  the  huge  headlines  the 
paper  affected.  He  realized  the  hideous  mistake  he  had 
made  the  night  before  in  not  talking  to  the  reporter 
and  insisting  on  the  truth  being  printed.  Now  it  was 
too  late.  This  damnable  travesty  would  go  broadcast 
over  America;  would  be  reprinted  abroad.  The  Aus- 
tralasian News  Service  had  already  cabled  the  news  to 
his  own  country,  no  doubt.  He  would  be  branded  as  a 
man  who  fooled  round  with  women,  w'hile  his  country 
was  fighting  for  its  existence. 

With  burning  eyes  he  read  the  interview  with  Ferrero. 
He  saw  the  description  of  the  interrupted  tete-a-tete, 
and  wondered  bitterly  if  the  thing  could  possibly  have 
looked  even  colorably  like  that  to  a  third  person.  Then 
came  the  story  of  the  thrashing,  headed  "Fracas  at 
Actors'  Club,"  and  supported  by  several  eyewitness 
stories. 

It  was  cleverly  written.    With  ingenious  subtlety  the 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        QU 

paper  had  confined  itself  to  the  actual  facts,  but  had 
used  Ferrero  and  hig  ''allegations"  to  make  the  obscene 
suggestions  that  covered  the  whole  episode  with  infamy. 
With  a  heart  on  fire  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  paragraph 
that  brought  him  to  his  feet  with  an  imprecation.  He 
felt  as  men  feel  when  they  take  life — take  it  gladly, 
stamping  out  a  thing  too  vile  to  live.  So  he  would  have 
treated  Ferrero,  at  that  moment.  For  he  had  just  read 
that  Margaret  had  been  forced  to  leave  him,  and  was 
living  by  herself,  pending  a  divorce.  It  was  not  given 
as  a  fact,  but  again  as  an  "allegation." 

The  elevator  boy's  black  eyes  sparkled  with  curiosity 
as  he  shot  the  famous  Mist'  Lee  up  to  his  floor.  The 
boy  knew  all  about  it. 

Philip  stumbled  into  his  room,  and  shut  the  door. 

*'God  in  Heaven!  What  can  I  say  to  Margaret?"  he 
whispered,  aloud,  the  disorder  of  his  mind  forcing  the 
words. 

Hunched  in  a  chair,  his  head  on  his  arms,  he  went 
through  his  Gethsemane.  He  could  contradict  the  story ; 
he  might  bring  suit  against  the  paper,  though  they  had 
protected  themselves;  he  might  horse-whip  the  black- 
guardly editor.  But  would  anything  he  could  do  prevent 
Margaret's  innocent  eyes  from  reading  that  appalling 
tissue  of  suggestions? 

It  was  to  this  he  had  brought  her.  She  had  been  so 
serene  and  happy,  in  that  pretty  room  at  Mrs.  Chuff's, 
with  her  friends  and  her  miniatures.  He  had  broken 
up  that  existence;  had  forced  her  with  his  damned, 
whining  importunities  to  take  pity  on  him,  and  marry 
him.  What  amends  could  he  make  ?  What  amends  were 
even  possible? 

He  began  to  examine  himself.  He  was  face  to  face 
with  his  naked  soul.  He  understood  that  tinsel  and 
glitter  had  been  his  ambitions.  Never  once  in  his  life 
had  he  asked  himself  to  what  good  use  he  might  put  it. 
On  no  single  occasion  had  he  thought  of  achievement 
in  relation  to  others.  Always  it  had  been  personal  to 
himself ,_  bringing  this  money  reward,  and  that  meed  of 
admiration.    He  had  been  greedy  of  men's  praise,  never 


822        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

of  their  good.  Every  page  of  the  world's  book  had  had 
its  interest  for  his  insatiable  curiosity.  His  twitching 
fingers  had  been  impatient  to  turn  them,  one  after  an- 
other. How  like  a  small  boy  he  had  been,  in  his 
"showing-oif."  His  attitude  had  been  that  of  the  brag- 
gart—"111  bet  I  could  do  that!"  The  picture  that 
came  before  his  miserable  eyes  was  dark  and  unattrac- 
tive. **Unstahle  as  water  thou  shalt  not  excel."  That 
was  it !  Instability  and  weakness,  ostentation  and  pride ! 
There  was  he,  Philip  Lee,  in  little.  How  pathetically 
little,  too !  Margaret  had  been  right,  after  all.  Humpty- 
Dumpty  had  come  to  glorious  smash,  and  had  carried  her 
with  him. 

His  fingers  gripped  the  paper  convulsively.  As  misery 
will  notice  trifles  quite  outside  the  treadmill  of  wretched 
reflection,  he  noticed  this  name  in  unfamiliar  guise, 
sprawling  across  a  column — *'Sir  Philip  Lee."  So  the 
reporter  had  worked  it  out.  Sir  Philip  Lee!  Arthur 
had  died  gloriously  and  had  left  the  title  covered  with 
honor  in  England ;  did  he  know  how  it  had  been  covered 
with  mud  in  New  York? 

He  roused  himself  after  a  while.  He  must  do  his  best 
to  overtake  the  lie.  There  were  cables  to  send.  He 
must  see  the  head  of  the  Australasian  News  Service  and 
give  an  authoritative  denial.  He  must  cable  London 
and  get  Wiseman  and  Cranch  to  keep  it  out  of  the 
English  press,  a  comparatively  easy  task,  when  the  press 
acknowledges  some  sense  of  responsibility.  Then  he 
must  see  Ferrero  and  force  him  to  contradict.  He  would 
drag  him  to  the  newspaper  office,  if  necessary. 

He  hurried  out,  leaving  a  message  that  he  would  be 
back  at  twelve.  Thus  it  happened  he  missed  Margaret's 
telephone  message. 

She  would  not  have  seen  the  infamous  article,  as  the 
Jessops  would  sooner  have  allowed  a  snake  into  their 
decent  home  than  the  Chanticleer.  But  she  had  volun- 
teered to  do  some  house  shopping  for  Mrs.  Jessop  that 
morning,  and  had  gone  into  a  news  agent's  in  the  town 
for  some  postcards  to  send  Peter. 

There,  under  the  eyes  of  the  salesman  and  his  assistant, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        B23 

Margaret  had  caught  sight  of  the  flaring  headlines,  in 
red  ink  that  challenged  the  gaze.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  she  was  about  to  faint,  but  her  pride  caused  her 
to  summon  every  atom  of  her  resolution,  and  she  read 
the  story  through.  Not  by  a  quiver  did  she  betray  the 
fact  that  she  was  an  interested  party.  She  saw  the 
blackguardly  suggestion  about  herself,  and  smiled  with 
relief.  Expede  Ilerculem.  By  this  over-reaching 
absurdity  she  was  enabled  to  judge  the  malice  of  the 
whole  thing.  Her  mind  was  as  clear  as  noonday.  While 
Philip  was  drifting  in  an  agony  of  abasement  towards 
shoals  of  inefficient  violence,  her  woman's  intuition,  and 
an  amazing  woman's  pluck,  which  would  venture  even 
humiliation  to  clear  Philip's  name,  were  pointing  the 
■way  to  her. 

She  began  with  a  promise,  from  which  her  mind  never 
moved.  The  tale  was  a  fabrication.  Philip  mighty  be 
weak,  he  might  be  lost  to  a  sense  of  proportion  in  life, 
but  he  was  as  clean  in  mind  as  a  child.  That  old,  long 
past  incident  of  Mazie  Sefton  had  been  on  a  different 
plane.  She  had  lived  with  Philip  long  enough  to  know 
that  a  certain  fastidiousness  of  mind  went  with  a  fastid- 
iousness of  body.  This  ugly  incident  was  impossible  for 
him  as  for  herself. 

On  that  she  built  her  plan.  Since  the  story  was  false, 
one  person  besides  Philip  could  prove  it  to  be  so. 
"Wanda  Lara  had  every  reason  for  disproving  the  impu- 
tation which  rested  on  her  equally  with  Philip.  Wanda's 
denial  could  of  itself  carry  no  weight,  but  if  Margaret, 
supposed  to  be  living  apart  from  Philip,  and  nursing 
a  grievance — if  she,  who  might  be  expected  to  welcome 
additional  evidence  against  her  husband,  were  to  appear 
with  Wanda,  and  with  the  full  weight  of  her  position 
denounce  the  whole  thing  as  a  malicious  falsehood,  their 
very  alliance  would  give  the  death-blow  to  the  scandal. 

Naturally  she  shrank  from  the  ordeal.  Wanda  Lara 
was  not  a  womian  she  cared  to  go  to  for  favors;  still, 
there  was  no  earthly  reason  why  she  should  not  col- 
laborate with  her  under  the  curcumstances.     Anyhow, 


324.        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

her  own  prejudices  were  as  nothing',  w^hen.  the  question 
of  saving  Philip's  reputation  was  considered. 

She  gave  herself  no  time  for  more  reflection.  She 
had  seen  a  way,  and  she  made  straight  towards  it. 
She  was  ever  set  against  finding  direction  out  by  indirec- 
tion. She  telephoned  Philip  at  his  hotel.  He  was  out. 
She  caught  the  first  train  to  the  city,  and  went  to  his 
rooms.  He  was  still  absent.  There  was  no  time  to  be 
lost.  The  joint  denial  should  appear  in  the  evening 
papers,  if  possible. 

She  meant  to  telephone  to  Wanda,  but  a  second's 
thought  deterred  her.  The  girl  would  be  in  at  this  time, 
just  before  the  noon  hour.  Something  might  urge  her 
to  refuse  to  see  Margaret,  if  warned  of  her  coming. 
As  she  stepped  from  the  hotel  vestibule  to  the  pavement 
a  storm  of  rain  began,  which  turned  to  snow,  one  of  the 
last  falls  of  the  season.  Winter's  last  defiance  to  Spring. 
A  bell-boy  hailed  a  taxi,  and  she  asked  to  be  driven  to 
the  Plaza  Hotel.  Up  the  crowded,  wet  Avenue  she 
whirled  to  the  Park. 

Had  she  known  him  by  sight,  she  might  have  seen 
Ferrero,  sitting  patiently  by  one  of  the  palms,  waiting. 
Wanda  had  gone  out,  and  he  was  watching  for  her 
return. 

Margaret  did  not  ask  at  the  desk,  for  the  same  reason 
as  prevented  her  from  telephoning.  She  knew  the  floor, 
and  the  room  number,  and  went  straight  up.  She 
was  trembling  now,  but  her  purpose  in  no  way 
faltered. 

The  maid,  who  came  in  reply  to  her  knock,  informed 
her  that  Miss  Lara  was  out  for  a  little  while,  but  was 
expected  any  minute.    Would  Madam  wait? 

Margaret  entered  the  rosy  room,  and  took  a  seat  at 
the  farther  end.  The  sudden  storm  had  obscured  the 
room,  and  the  maid  switched  on  the  electrics  with  an 
apology. 

"Oh,  please,  no,"  begged  Margaret.  The  sndden 
radiance  made  her  shrink.  She  could  not  bear  to  sit 
and  wait  in  that  light  to  face  Wanda. 

She  had  left  a  note  for  Philip — a  cheerful,  loving  note, 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        625 

which  told  him  she  would  be  back  to  lunch  with  him. 
It  bade  him  cheer  up ;  that  she  would  fix  everything. 

Philip  came  back  at  twelve,  as  he  had  arranged.  On 
his  table  was  Margaret's  note.  He  read  it  with  a  quick 
stab  of  pity  for  her  and  an  immense  appreciation  of 
her  trust. 

"By  Jove,  what  a  sportsman !"  he  thought.  Then  his 
brow  furrowed  in  thought.  She  had  come  in  for  a 
purpose.  She  was  going  to  make  it  all  come  right! 
"Where  had  she  gone  ?    What  was  she  about  to  do  ? 

He  hurried  downstairs.  The  elevator  boy  remembered 
the  lady  who  had  gone  to  his  rooms.  Oh,  yass,  suh! 
She  had  asked  Albert  to  whistle  her  a  taxi.  It  had 
started  to  rain,  just  befo'  de  snow  come.  Yass,  suh! 
Albert  was  out'n  de  hall,  near  de  desk. 

Albert  remembered  the  lady.  She  had  given  the  driver 
orders  to  drive  to  the  Plaza  Hotel. 

So  that  was  it!  Wanda!  Margaret  must  not  be 
allowed  to  mix  herself  up  in  this  unsavory  mess.  He 
hurried  out  of  the  hotel,  and  as  fast  as  car  could  drive 
in  the  traffic,  sped  to  the  Plaza. 

His  quick,  nervous  manner,  his  questing  look  round 
the  lounge,  were  not  lost  on  Ferrero,  still  waiting.  He 
watched  Lee  walk  to  the  elevators,  and  a  sudden  sus- 
picion darted  to  his  brain.  The  maid  had  told  him 
Wanda  had  gone  out.  What  if  she  lied?  What  if  she 
were  waiting  for  Lee?  They  would  naturally  be  plan- 
ning what  they  would  do  in  the  circumstances. 

He  jumped  up,  and  in  his  turn  made  his  way  to  the 
elevator,  not  two  minutes  after  Philip  had  ascended. 

Philip  entered  without  ceremony,  after  the  briefest  of 
knocks.  He  had  no  doubt  he  would  find  Wanda  and 
Margaret  together,  and  he  was  on  that  footing  of 
intimacy  which  allowed  the  freedom. 

In  the  gloomy  light,  he  distinguished  Margaret  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  At  his  knock  she  had  risen. 
When  she  saw  it  was  Philip,  she  spoke. 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  find  me?" 

"You  must  come  away,  Margaret.  I  don't  want  you 
mixed  up  in  this  business.     You've  got  to  suffer,   I 


326        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

suppose,  through,  my  idiotic  fault,  but  at  least  you  need 
get  no  deeper  into  it  than  you  are  already." 

His  tone  showed  something  of  the  self-scorn  he  was 
suffering,  and  her  heart  went  out  to  him,  aa  it  always 
did  when  he  was  troubled. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  as  if  you  and  I  need  to  care  for  a 
thing  like  that!  No  one  would  ever  believe  it — no  one 
we  cared  about.  Would  Peter  or  Arthur  ever  trouble 
their  dear  old  heads  over  it?" 

''Arthur!"  Then  she  did  not  know.  "Margaret  I 
got  a  cablegram  this  morning,  or  rather  last  night. 
I've  bad  news  for  you." 

"Not — ^not  Peter?"  she  said,  with  white  lips. 

"Arthur.    Killed  at  Gallipoli." 

She  gave  a  little  cry  of  distress.  Then  she  was  silent. 
But  the  strain  of  the  morning,  with  this  superadded, 
had  been  almost  too  much  for  her.  She  was  still  stand- 
ing, looking  at  Philip  with  wide,  tearless  eyes.  It  took 
all  her  will-power  to  keep  going.  She  heard  his  voice 
explaining  things.  It  seemed  to  come  from  an  immense 
distance. 

The  door  opened  stealthily,  but  with  a  creak  that 
made  Philip  turn.    Ferrero  stood  there  looking  at  them. 

"Ah,  my  dear  girl,  I  have  come  to  prove  to  you  that 
I  can  take  care  of  my  property,"  he  said,  gently,  and 
raised  his  arm. 

Philip  saw  something  gleam  dully  in  his  hand.  It 
is  an  exceedingly  difficult  thing  to  make  a  law-abiding, 
normal  man  understand  that  melodrama  is  something 
which  is  merely  transferred  to  the  stage  from  real  life — 
the  most  real  form  of  drama  there  is.  It  was  simply 
incredible  that  there,  in  that  shadowy  room,  not  ten 
paces  away,  a  man  was  standing  intent  on  taking  life. 
It  could  not  be.  For  long  seconds  it  seemed  that  the 
sinister  arm  was  pointing  something  at  Margaret;  sec- 
onds before  Philip  could  find  his  voice.  The  madman 
clearly  thought  the  woman  in  the  gloom  was  Wanda. 
Outside  the  snow  was  falling  in  a  pitiless  winding-sheet 
that  muffled  all  traffic.  It  swirled  against  the  windows, 
which  it  covered  with  flaky  opacity. 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        627 

"It's  my  wife,  you  fool,"  Philip  called,  in  a  husky, 
strained  voice  that  appeared  to  come  from  a  third  per- 
son. He  was  still  near  enough  to  Margaret  to  touch  her. 
As  he  spoke  he  put  out  his  hand  and  shoved  her  violently 
away  from  him.  She  landed  in  a  huddled,  breathless 
heap,  on  the  chair,  from  which  she  had  risen  at  his 
entrance.  As  she  fell,  the  shot  rang  out.  Philip  saw 
that  long  before  he  could  traverse  the  intervening  space 
a  second  shot  would  follow,  and  this  time  could  not 
miss  the  sitting  figure  of  his  wife.  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  do.  He  saw  the  upraised  arm,  and  the  black, 
crazy,  glittering  eyes.  Then  he  jumped.  Into  the  line 
of  fire  with  his  back  turned  to  the  death  behind  him, 
and  his  arms  thrown  in  a  covering  protection  around 
Margaret,  who  was  unconscious,  he  threw  himself,  and 
the  second  shot  was  fired. 

He  moaned  slightly,  and  his  body  drew  itself  in 
sharply.  His  arms  relaxed  their  protecting  hold,  and 
his  head  slipped  on  to  her  breast. 

"Margaret ,"    he    whispered,    and    again    more 

faintly — "Margaret."  It  was  a  groping  of  the  spirit 
for  help  and  comfort.  But  she  did  not  hear.  The 
scared  maid  rushed  in  and  sped  away  again.  Only  that 
feeble  "Margaret!"  sighed  through  the  darkening  room. 
Outside  the  soft  snow  drifted  noiselessly  past.  Then 
he,  too,  grew  silent. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"I'd  not  give  way  for  an  Emperor, 
I'd  hold  my  road  for  a  King — 
To  the  Triple  Crown  I  would  not  how  dotorv— i 

But  this  is  a  different   thing. 
I'll  not  fight  with  the  Powers  of  Air, 

Sentry,  pass  him   through! 
Drawbridge   let  fall,  it's  the  Lord  of  us  all, 
The  Dreamer  whose   dreams   come   true!" 

— The  Faieies'  Sibob 

FRIENDLY  lights  of  Sydney  in  the  hour  before 
dawn!  The  cheerful,  winking  welcome  from  the 
lighthouse  on  South  Head!  The  Southern  Cross 
suddenly  invested  with  the  magie  of  an  exclusively 
Australian  constellation!  There  were  many  besides 
Margaret,  who  could  not  sleep  on  this  last  morning. 
Many  other  eyes  smarted  with  the  salt  of  happy  tears. 
Those  lights  meant  Home — ^safety — the  comfort  of 
friends. 

That  couldn't  be  Peter!  But  it  was!  Peter,  with  the 
same  cheerful  smile  that  annihilated  the  years  between 
them.  It  was  an  eternity  until  they  were  allowed 
ashore.  She  came  to  meet  him,  half  crying,  half  laugh- 
ing.   Conventionally  they  shook  hands. 

''Hullo,  what's  this  you've  brought?"  said  Peter. 

**A  British  citizen,  almost  new,"  she  replied. 

"I'm  Philip  Peter  Egerton  Lee,"  said  the  new  citizen, 
"an'  I'm  two  an'  a  bit.    What's  your  name?" 

"Just  Peter,"  was  the  reply,  "and  I'm  turned  five, 
so  that  beats  your  measly  two  and  a  bit.  But  you'll 
grow." 

He  was  hurrying  the  formalities  through  as  fast  aa 
possible,  and  in  the  intervals  of  waiting  he  conversed 
with  Philip  the  younger.    Somehow  he  could  not  speak 

828 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        329 

to  Margaret.  He  took  refuge  from  embarrassment  in 
inconsequential  banter  with  the  boy. 

''Shall  I  catch  up?"  the  youngster  inquired. 

"Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Peter,  and  swung  him  to 
his  shoulder.  "There,  you're  bigger  than  I  am,  any- 
way." 

He  turned  to  a  cabman. 

"These  to  the  "Wentworth,"  he  ordered,  and  with 
the  child  perched  on  his  shoulder  he  led  the  way  out  to 
the  street.  In  the  taxi  he  spoke  to  Margaret,  practically 
for  the  first  time. 

"  I  've  got  the  dowager  at  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Redf ern  is 
down  with  rheumatiz,  and  Dr.  Fayne  is  there  night  and 
day,  so  I  thought  you'd  better  have  the  next  best.  And 
a  real  old  sport  she  is!  Just  stopped  long  enough  to 
put  Gertrude  into  cold  storage,  and  the  cat  out  of  the 
flat,  and  there  she  was. ' ' 

Margaret  did  not  seem  to  be  listening.  She  ficsed  her 
eyes  on  Peter's  left  arm.  He  wore  a  glove  on  that  hand. 
Gradually  the  significance  of  it  was  dawning  on  her. 

"Peter — you  didn't  tell  me,"  she  said,  and  her  heart 
surged  with  the  pathos  of  it. 

He  moved  the  arm  up  and  down. 

*  *  The  very  finest  made, ' '  he  smiled.  '  *  Here,  don 't  cry, 
old  girl.  Far  better  stop  one  with  your  arm  than  with 
your  head.    It's  all  in  the  game." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  she  asked.  His  apparent 
indifference  braced  her. 

"Time  enough;  you  had  your  own  troubles,"  he 
replied.  "I  don't  care — much,"  he  finished  softly. 
"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  The  dowager  and  I  thought 
it  was  not  much  chop  coming  to  Sydney  just  for  a  week- 
end, so  we  took  a  cottage  for  a  month,  on  spec.  Just 
had  a  notion  that  you  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  here  might 
be  the  better  of  a  dose  of  snn  and  air  and  sea.  Rather 
a  decent  little  crib — on  the  coast.  Doesn't  it  strike  you 
that  Australia's  a  nice  little  hole,  taken  all  round?" 

She  breathed  deep  of  the  sparkling,  tangy  air. 

"Worth  fighting  for,  Peter?"  she  asked. 

"Just  about,"  he  said.    "It'll  do  me,  if  some  of  these 


SSO        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

talky-talky  gentlemen  of  the  soap-box  and  the  pulpit 
will  stop  poisoning  the  atmosphere.  It's  taken  a  lot  of 
trouble  to  hold  it;  I  reckon  we've  got  the  right  to  run 
it,  now.    Anyway,  we're  going  to." 

As  Peter  had  foreseen  when  he  arranged  it,  the  month 
on  the  lovely  coast  braced  Margaret  sufficiently  to  enable 
her  to  take  up  her  life  in  Melbourne  without  too  poignant 
memories. 

She  found  a  sunny  nook,  half-way  up  tlie  sloping  cliff, 
eliver-gray  with  its  dress  of  sage.  To  this  aery  she 
would  climb,  when  she  wanted  to  think  out  the  future. 
The  dowager,  in  solitary  dignity,  sat  on  a  lower  level 
where  the  sun  could  not  scorch  the  complexion  she  still 
valued  so  highly.  As  for  Margaret,  she  could  not  get 
enough  sun.  Two  shivering  English  winters  had  suc- 
ceeded New  York  blizzards,  and  English  sunshine,  even 
in  beautiful  June,  seemed  but  a  pale  imitation  of  the 
real  thing. 

On  the  last  day  of  her  holiday,  she  sat  in  her  favorite 
seat.  A  book  lay  on  her  lap,  unopened.  Her  mind  was 
busy.  "What  fiction  could  hold  her,  after  the  realities  of 
England?  Her  problem  was  the  future  of  her  boy. 
Was  Australia  or  England  to  have  the  shaping  of  him? 
For  herself,  the  title  meant  nothing — less  than  nothing. 
It  was  merely  the  dazzle  of  tinsel.  But  there  were  huge 
responsibilities  awaiting  the  wee  man  in  England,  when 
the  little  fists  grew  big  enough  to  grasp  them.  Would 
she  be  doing  right  to  make  of  him  something  which  would 
bring  an  alien  mind  to  the  solution  of  peculiarly  English 
problems?  Or  would  Australia's  breadth  not  be  a 
splendid  school? 

It  was  not  a  question  of  love  for  either  country.  Eng- 
land had  grown  inexpressibly  dear  to  her.  She  had 
come  there,  filled  with  a  personal  sorrow,  which  blatant 
publicity  had  given  a  touch  of  vulgarity.  She  had 
shrunk  from  the  notice  of  her  kind.  But  England  had 
held  out  to  her  tender  hands,  and  said — "Come!  See 
how  I,  too,  am  suffering." 

She  saw  something  she  had  never  even  dimly  con- 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        331 

ceived.  The  grieving  heart  of  a  nation!  The  noble 
dignity  of  bereavement  that  has  given  gladly!  In  the 
face  of  this  tragic  accumulation  of  sorrow,  her  own 
suffering  seemed  petty  and  unworthy.  Australia  had 
been  her  constant  thought — the  land  of  lands.  ^  Her 
heart  ached  with  consuming  homesickness.  But  in  the 
face  of  what  she  was  then  seeing,  her  own  country  took 
on  another  aspect.  It  seemed  indefinitely  removed  from 
her — almost  indifferent  to  the  sublimity  of  sacrifice  in 
which  her  own  sons  were  so  gloriously  involved.^  The 
echoes  of  clamorous  nonentities  seemed  the  voice  of 
Australia,  and  what  an  unworthy  voice !  She  read  of 
strikes  which  prevented  the  loading  of  ships,  and  she 
burned  with  shame ;  she  saw  reports  of  a  priest,  a  leader 
of  his  people,  who  derided  the  cause  for  which  thousands 
of  his  co-religionists  had  died  in  splendid  service ;  she 
heard  his  base  slanders  against  a  people  among  whom 
she  was  living  in  a  constant  wonder  of  gratitude  and 
love,  and  she  was  forced  to  lower  her  eyes  in  shame 
that  the  name  of  her  country  should  be  dragged  in  the 
mud  by  the  wretched,  cowardly  few  who  shouted  **  Ad- 
vance Australia,"  even  while  they  pulled  her  down. 

And  she  learned  her  lesson.  She  who  had  wished 
to  be  an  Australian  more  than  anything  else,  discovered 
that  it  is  impossible  to  be  a  good  Australian  unless  one 
has  learned  first  to  be  a  good  Briton.  The  greater  in- 
cludes the  less.  She  had,  like  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
her  countrymen,  discovered  at  first  hand  the  greatness  of 
Britain,  and  the  grandeur  of  her  Empire. 

She  had  worked  beside  her  sisters  for  three  years, 
giving  with  both  hands  of  her  immense  resources  to 
all  kinds  of  War  necessities.  Then  the  Canadian 
Government  had  found  a  way  through  the  travel  restric- 
tions and  had  made  her  path  smooth.  Lady  Lee,  the 
richest  woman  in  England  in  all  probability,  owner  of 
Welsh  coal  mines  and  Cornish  pitchblende  deposits,  was 
a  personage  to  please. 

She  had  come  home. 

Far  below  her  Peter  came  into  sight  on  the  sands, 


332        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

and  her  reverie  ended.  A  smile  came  to  her  lips,  and 
for  a  moment  the  old,  veritable  Margaret  came  back. 
She  watched  a  pair  of  stout  little  heels  digging  Peter 
unmercifully  in  the  ribs,  making  him  prance  and 
caracole  like  a  very  thoroughbred. 

She  rose  and  went  down  to  them.  Peter  bucked  the 
baronet  off,  tossing  him  on  his  august  back  in  the  sand, 
and  strolled  to  meet  her.  After  him  panted  young 
Philip,  to  be  presently  caught  up  in  his  mother's  strong 
arms. 

"Let's  sit  down,"  she  commanded.  Peter  dropped 
obediently  beside  her.  The  youngster  wandered  off  on 
a  voyage  of  discovery. 

"He's  very  like  Phil,"  said  Peter,  turning  to  her. 
She  was  silent.  *'Does  that  hurt  you,  Margaret?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  I'm  glad.  He  has  just  Philip's  trick  of  looking 
up  in  a  challenging  way,  if  I  check  him — Philip  to  the 
life." 

"He  can't  take  after  anyone  better,"  Peter  ventured. 

"How  you  loved  him!"  she  said. 

"He  was  the  best  thing  in  my  life,"  explained  Peter, 
simply.  "Do  you  think  you  could  bear  to  tell  me  about 
it — some  day?" 

There  fell  a  silence.  Her  voice  was  uncertain  when 
she  replied. 

"Some  day,  Peter.  The  worst  part  was  not  being  able 
to  speak  to  him  at  the  last.  I  have  a  haunting  feeling 
that  I  failed  him.     I  was  like  a  stupid,  fainting  school 

girl,  and  I  left  him  to  die  alone "    Tears  came  then, 

but  she  tried  to  talk  through  them.  Peter  rose,  calling  to 
the  boy,  and  walking  after  him. 

When  he  went  back,  she  was  quiet.    She  smiled  at  him. 

"He  made  his  name,"  she  said,  "and  that  was  what 
he  wanted.  When  he  said  he'd  do  a  thing,  he  always  did 
it,"  she  added,  proudly.  Woman  like,  she  was  idealizing 
the  quality  she  had  formerly  condemned. 

"Yes.  That  was  Phil,  all  over."  There  was  a  diffi- 
dent note  in  his  voice,  as  he  continued. 

"Margaret,  I  thought  you  might  like  to  know  that 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        333 

all — that — blackguardly  business  cabled  out  here — ^well, 
Ingram  killed  it.  He  knew  Phil,  and  he  just  got  busy 
and  stopped  its  publication.  You  see  it  came  first  via 
Vancouver,  our  own  exclusive  service,  so  he  was  able 
to  kill  it  before  the  ordinary  London  cables  came 
through." 

"Will  you  thank  him  for  me,  Peter?"  she  said,  grate- 
fully. How  she  had  feared  the  explanations  she  would 
have  to  make  in  respect  of  that  very  thing. 

*'I  never  felt  easy  in  my  mind  about  you,  ever  since 
I  got  that  letter  from  'Hurry-on  Avenue,'  "  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  nod  that  dismissed  the  other  subject  for 
ever.  "You,  of  all  women,  in  *  Hurry-on  Avenue!' 
"Was  it  as  bad  all  the  time?" 

"It  needn't  have  been  so  bad,  if  I'd  only  had  a  little 
sense,"  she  said.  "I  was  a  cat,  Peter.  I  saw  Phil's 
success  through  the  most  jealous,  narrow  slits  of  eyes 
you  can  imagine.  The  war  filled  my  thoughts.  Every- 
thing lost  its  proportions.  I  might  have  remembered 
that  to  him  his  triumph  was  an  earnest  of  his  ability. 
He  had  proved  his  right  to  stand  among  the  big  people. 
I — I  sneered.  I'd  just  give  everything  I  possess  now 
to  recall  that  sneer." 

"I  somehow  can't  get  a  picture  of  you  sneering  at 
anyone,"  he  objected. 

"That  proves  you  don't  know  me.  There's  mud  when 
you  get  far  enough  down  into  the  essential  Margaret 
Lee." 

"Nile  mud,  then,"  he  replied,  "fit  for  strength  and 
fertility.    I  won't  listen  to  slanders  against  you." 

He  smiled,  and  unconcernedly  picked  pebbles  from 
the  sand,  and  threw  them  aimlessly  at  inoffensive  rocks. 
He  had  an  almost  overmastering  longing  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  and  hold  her  close  from  all  depreciation,  even 
her  own.  Day  after  day,  the  sweetness  and  greatness 
of  her  were  making  her  more  desirable;  but  a  certain 
large  graciousness  in  her  seemed  to  remove  her  far  from 
the  littleness  of  passion.  He  kept  silent.  A  man  must 
be  far  more  conscious  of  worth  than  was  Peter  Wister 
to  offer  to  take  the  place  of  Philip  Lee. 


331        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

As  he  jerked  ineffectual  pebbles,  Margaret  studied  his 
face.  The  line  of  the  jaw  was  strengthened,  since  he 
had  become  a  soldier.  His  eyes  showed  to  her  something 
of  the  tragedy  of  the  sights  they  had  witnessed  on  the 
rocks  of  Anzac  and  the  French  battlefields.  He  only 
smiled  with  his  lips,  she  noticed.  Too  many  visions 
filled  the  eyes  for  mirth  to  rise  so  high. 

Peter  was  an  open  book  to  her.  She  read  plainly  the 
determination  he  was  schooling  himself  to  observe.  She 
had  known  of  his  love  when  she  had  left  him  nearly 
four  years  ago.  He  had  crushed  it  down  then,  and  he 
would  crush  it  down  always, 

Mrs.  Lee  came,  with  gingerly  steps,  down  the  cliff 
and  walked  towards  them.  On  the  way  she  collected  her 
grandson.  Margaret  held  out  her  arms  for  the  boy, 
but  the  autocrat  refused. 

"No,  I  wants  Peter,"  he  exclaimed,  and  struggled 
down. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  returned  Peter,  and  saluted.  The 
infant  just  as  gravely  returned  the  salute  with  curtesy. 
It  was  a  daily  ceremony.  Then  Peter's  one  good  arm 
swung  him  aloft  to  the  sound  shoulder.  He  beat  the 
horse  cruelly  about  the  head,  while  that  thoroughbred, 
after  his  kind,  bore  the  punishment  unflinchingly.  And 
so — across  the  sands,  and  up  the  shelving  cliff  to  the 
cottage. 

Flooding  moonlight  silvered  the  sea  two  hours  later. 
Mrs,  Lee  never  ventured  out  into  the  night  air.  She 
was  of  the  generation  which  believes  that  with  the  setting 
sun  bacteria  in  billions  take  possession  of  the  atmosphere 
and  constitute  a  hidden  death. 

Peter  and  Margaret  walked  to  the  pier.  Peter,  bujsy 
with  crowding  thoughts,  was  silent.  At  the  pier  foot 
an  old  fisherman  gave  them  good-night.  Peter  did  not 
answer,  but  Margaret  threw  an  added  sweetness  into 
her  reply  to  make  up. 

At  the  end  of  the  pier  they  stood,  looking  down  the 
pathway  of  radiance. 

"Oh,  life  can  hurt,  but  it's  good,  Peter,  it's  good." 


THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT        S35 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Peter,  loconically.  She  was 
going  to  his  head. 

"Oh,  don't  be  a  bear  on  a  night  like  this,  old  thing," 
she  begged.    "It's  out  of  the  picture." 

He  turned  to  her.  In  the  white  light  her  beauty  and 
grace  were  etherialized. 

"You're  finding  your  way  back  to  the  old  track," 
he  said. 

How  far  she  had  wandered  from  that  Contentment 
Road,  from  which  she  had  vowed  she  would  never  stray ! 
There  was  a  hint  of  feeling  in  her  tone  as  she  replied. 

"I'm  just  at  the  entrance,  Peter,  where  Difficulty 
Lane  makes  the  sharp  turn.  The  roads  fork  there,  and 
it's  easy  to  miss  the  way." 

"Not  for  you,"  he  said,  almost  sharply.  "It's  just  a 
matter  of  wheeling  round  the  turn.  You  know  the  way. 
Oh,  Margaret,  don't  you  remem — ?" 

He  was  silent.    That  way  was  barred. 

Margaret's  heart  raced.  She  had  a  move  to  make, 
and  it  was  hard  to  phrase  what  she  had  to  say. 

"I've  discovered — Peter,  don't  you  think  that  it  can 
be  a  very  lonely  road  sometimes  ? ' ' 

His  voice  sounded  gruff  to  his  ears,  as  he  made  answer. 
She  listened  for  the  reply  anxiously.  Surely  he  would 
take  the  cue. 

"You've  got  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,"  he  said,  **and  no 
one  could  be  lonely  with  the  young  baronite  to  stir  up 
things. ' ' 

"You  love  him,  don't  you,  Peter?"  she  asked. 

"He's  a  sportsman.  If  he  keeps  his  course,  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  make  something  out  of  him  yet."  He 
was  trying  to  keep  his  voice  light.  It  only  sounded 
flippant. 

"That's  just  it.  Am  I  to  bring  him  up  in  England, 
where  his  responsibilities  are,  or  in  Australia,  where 
life  is  wider  ?  I  'm  just  wondering  whether  I  am  capable 
of  deciding  aright." 

"But — you  wouldn't  go  back  to  England!"  Peter 
was  aroused  by  the  grim  possibility. 

"If  it  were   best   for  the   boy.     I — want — someone 


33G        THE  ASHES  OF  ACHIEVEMENT 

to  help  with  the  responsibility — ^Peter,"  she  risked. 
Woman  could  do  no  more. 

He  faced  her.  In  a  tide  of  desire  that  had  been 
dammed  back  for  years,  all  his  resolutions  were  swept 
off.  He  was  Man,  and  this  was  Woman,  and  he  had  a 
right  to  win  her  if  he  could. 

' '  Just  what  do  you  mean  ? "  he  demanded,  straitly. 

*'You  are  suffering  from  an  aggravated  attack  of 
Wisteria  to-night,  Pcfter.  I'm  afraid  of  you,"  she 
countered  lightly,  but  he  did  not  smile  in  return. 

'*I  have  dreamed  that  some  day  you  would  belong  to 
me,  Margaret,"  he  said,  soberly,  but  with  his  eyes  filled 
with  a  growing  excitement.  "I  simply  daren't  hope 
that  my  dreams  will  come  true.  God  who  knows  I  love 
you  knows  also  the  height  you  have  to  stoop  from " 

She  laughed  joyously. 

** Never  mind  the  height,  Peter,"  she  whispered. 
"I've  waited  ages  just  to  hear  you  tell  me  that  you 
love  me.  Look,  I  haven't  to  stoop.  I'm  only — waiting. 
And  I  almost  had  to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"You  blessed  angel,"  he  said,  and  caught  her  to  him. 
He  could  use  the  right  arm  quite  effectively. 

They  passed  from  the  pier  when  the  moon  was  very 
low.     The  fisherman  was  at  work  on  his  nets. 

"Fine  night,  sir  an*  marm,"  he  called  after  them. 
Peter  strode  back. 

"  It 's  a  magnificent  night,  old  man, ' '  he  said,  heartily, 
and  the  low  moon  showed  that  something  changed  hands. 

"What  did  you  give  him?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Oh,  a  bit  of  a  present.  You  see,  darling,  he  thought 
it  was  a  fine  night,"  said  Peter  happily. 

The  fisherman  looked  at  the  note  he  held. 

"Strike  me!"  he  said.  "A  fiver!"  And  thought  it 
was  a  finer  night  than  ever. 

Margaret  and  Peter  walked  slowly  on  in  the  moon- 
light. They  had  negotiated  the  sharp  turn  from 
Difficulty  Lane,  and  were  approaching  Number  3 
Contentment  Road. 

THE  END. 


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